Recovery
by tractus.solitarius
Summary: Post T.R.A.C.K.S. A series of interconnected oneshots detailing how each member of the team dealt with Skye (technically not Daisy yet here) after her shooting. One character per chapter except for the first one.
1. Team

The first thing that registers in her mind when she finally comes to is thirst.

Her throat is so parched; every breath she takes is practically grating into the back of her mouth like some barely used sandpaper. The dryness in her tongue is probably just as bad, if not for the unyielding object that keeps it from touching the roof of her mouth. Come to think of it, whenever she tries to breathe, the same object is the one harshly rubbing against her throat, and not the actual air she breathes per se. Weird.

Wait… what is it anyway? Is she wearing a mouthpiece? _Retainers?_

Ugh. Retainers. She shudders at the thought. She only tried that once, wore it for like a week. It didn't work so well—both for her and the retainers.

Those were really dark times.

She then hears the whooshing. Odd, because they seem to go in concert with her breathing. Every sound rushes to her chest, sending whirls and whirls of vibrations that are not exactly very comforting. It is like she's doing pushups with her arms tied behind her back—her chest being the only thing that pushes her off the ground every single time. That could probably explain why she's so tired right now. Too damn tired, she could hardly goad her eyes to open. It is also not helping that her eyelids feel like they're made of lead, and lifting them, along with those strange chest pushups, requires so much work.

She fights the said pushups for a couple of seconds; however, for every beat that passes, instead of relieving her of her troubles, the only accomplishment she achieves is getting herself more drained.

It does not take her so much time to find out that she can only fight it for a very short while. The sad truth is: the more she tries to stop each movement, the heavier her chest becomes. The longest time she manages to hold them is about fifteen seconds, but by then the strain against her lungs triples, followed by a cacophony of shrill bells whose sole triumph is to make her head pound harder than it already does. She does not recall any other time when she had hated sounds this much.

She then wonders if her head had been split right across her temples recently. As in a few minutes ago recently.

Perhaps she should check her forehead for a pickaxe.

Or a bayonet.

Or a rake.

Or Thor's hammer.

Ooooh. Maybe she just got abducted by an axe murderer. An Asgardian axe murderer.

Because as much as that particular scenario sucks, it would definitely explain a lot.

"Skye?"

She hears a voice, it's a female one. She thinks she should know that voice well, but for some strange reason she could not place it right away. Her pulsating headache is messing with her ability to think.

"Can you hear me?" The voice comes from somewhere, she's sure. She's not just imagining it. Is it from underwater?

It really sounded like it comes from underwater.

"Skye…" The tone—her tone—sounded desperate… relieved, but desperate. Her accent rings… nice. It is nice. Comforting.

The whooshing continues. She eventually gives up and stops fighting it. She's so tired. She still struggles to open her eyes though. Like everything else that she tries to do today, it's surprisingly difficult.

After about four and a half whole-hearted attempts, she finally makes it.

Cue the victory dance.

Her happiness, nevertheless, proves itself to be shortlived. Opening her eyes—big mistake. It's torture in its purest form. Everything is so fucking bright she could scream. The light literally felt like they are burning huge holes through her retinas that she is left with no other choice but to quickly jam her lids shut before half the fog could clear out. Agony bursts from each of her pore as the pounding inside her head intensifies.

Maybe it really was an axe murderer.

God, is this how having one's skull chopped off feels like?

"Skye?"

Something beside her head beeps too quickly, suddenly pulling her out of her reverie. She senses some panicked movements around her. It is starting to worry her.

"It's okay. I promise it's okay. You're okay." Skye hears the reassurance in the woman's tone; she's just not entirely sure whether it's directed to her or to herself. She didn't have time to ponder much though. She couldn't breathe.

Skye's mind immediately goes haywire when that particular information sinks in. Why can't she breathe? Oh god. Oh god.

"Look at me please." The voice begs. A pair of hands caresses her cheek. "Open your eyes."

No… no. She couldn't breathe. Something is stuck in her throat. Why aren't they removing it? Oh god.

She tries to make a grab for the offending object in her mouth. If they won't remove it, then she will. She has to breathe.

"Wait, stop! No!" Her visitor screams. The hands on her face disappear. Something suddenly holds her down. It's incredibly strong. Much stronger than she is. She can't move. She needs to breathe. Why can't they understand? She needs to breathe!

"Heyheyhey… it's okay, Skye. Calm down. Calm down." A man's voice unexpectedly takes over. His voice is soothing. Soft. Like an autumn morning. She feels a gentle hand touching her forehead. Her heart slows down a little. Her lungs clear slightly.

"You are doing really great. That's good. Very good. Don't fight the machines, alright? They're helping you breathe."

Helping her breathe? What kind of person needs help breathing? She doesn't need help breathing.

 _Does she?_

Finally, she finds the strength again to open her eyes. She's more successful this time. Kind of. Brightness assaults her from all directions, but she perseveres. Her head throbs some more. Everything is a blur. She can't see anything clearly. It's very confusing.

"There you are." The man greets her. She couldn't vividly see his face, but she knows him.

It's Coulson.

She attempts to speak, but she couldn't. Her eyes widen in panic. Why can't she speak? What happened?

"You can't talk yet." Coulson tells her softly. "We still can't take the breathing tube out. It's okay."

She blinks at him. His face is starting to clear up, but her mind isn't.

"In a few days, we'll be removing it. I promise." He answers her unsaid question quickly. She feels him squeeze her hand. Tightly. "God, you really scared us, Skye. I almost thought—"

He lets the statement hang and shakes his head. He seems like he couldn't bring himself to finish it. She stares at him blankly. Did something happen?

What the fuck happened?

Resigned that she would probably not get any answers from him, Skye braves to look around the room for the first time. There is glass everywhere. She is in a glass room.

Then there is this weird… shudder.

She then focuses on the subtle shaking she feels. It's too familiar for her to miss. She's been living with it for far too long not to recognize it. She's still in the bus.

But then again, she couldn't recall having any glass rooms like this in the bus. This, wherever she is, it's too lighted. Too bright. Is there a hidden room she overlooked? A secret door she missed?

She sees a figure somewhere beside her, opposite Coulson. Of course, she thinks, mentally cursing herself for even forgetting. Of course it's her friend, Jemma. She gives herself a mental headslap. How can she even fail to recognize her?

However, barely a beat after being aware of her slip-up, Skye finds her eyebrows furrowing. She notices her friend's face.

She's crying. Jemma Simmons is crying. Wiping angry tears. Wait, were they angry tears? They seem like they're angry tears. Or at least, mildly pissed kind of tears. With perhaps a tinge of relief. Is there such thing as relieved-pissed kind of tears? "Don't you dare do that to us again, Skye!"

Skye blinks some more. What the hell did she do now? She's clearly missing something. And by the way, where are the others?

As if on cue, a group of very loud footsteps rushes quickly towards wherever she is. They're thunderous enough to make her head throb again. She winces.

"Is she really, is she, um—" It is Fitz who speaks first. His face is obstructed from view, but she knows his voice too well. His accent is too distinctive to forget. Coulson's blocking him though.

Skye hears him sputter a bunch of nonsense before finally, her boss decides to move over a bit to the side. Fitz's face is revealed. Their eyes meet. Skye couldn't explain why she feels a sudden urge to cry.

He looked so happy to see her. The last time she saw him like that was when they visited the Moroccan embassy to get Ward and Simmons after the biochemist's unexpected jump from 30000 feet above the air months back. "Skye!"

Wait, she didn't just jump at 30000 feet too, did she?

They are all smiling. Well, Fitz is crying. Or tearing up at least. May is smiling. Ward is smiling. It's so weird.

"She's okay." Fitz exclaimed, looking at everyone using those very bright eyes of his before finally stopping at Simmons. "Jemma, she's okay!"

"Yes, Fitz." Jemma wipes something from her own cheek before leaning down and doing the same to her. Wait, is that—

"Don't cry." Tear tracks are glaringly present on the biochemist's face even as she says it. "Everything's going to be alright now. The hard part is all over now."

The scientist blurs in her view. Why is Jemma even crying?

Why is _she_ crying?

"Simmons." Coulson nods at Jemma. His eyes are communicating with the biochemist in a language that Skye couldn't quite get. She tries to blink back the moisture forming in her own eyes, trying to control its progressive blurring. It didn't work quite as she wanted.

"Okay, Skye." Jemma says gently. "Enough activities for you today. You've really done a pretty good job. Now I think it is time for you to rest, alright?"

 _Rest?_ Yes, she's tired but they can't expect her to just rest without hearing any sort of explanation as to why they are all acting so strange. Why aren't they telling her anything?

Her eyes flick to Coulson who just tapped her slightly by her hand. He gives her a small smile. "We'll talk more soon, okay?"

Talk about what?

"Just rest for now, Skye." She hears Simmons say as she begins to tinker with her IV.

 _Wait, why does she even have an IV? Is she in a hospital? Wait—_

Her lids fall close before she could even protest.


	2. Melinda

The next time she comes to, it is quiet. And it is dark. Somebody must've turned off the lights. She's aching somewhere, but she could not pinpoint where. Everything feels dulled. Her brain is fuzzy. How long has she been asleep?

She looks around. Blinks. There's a figure huddled in a corner. Sitting silently. May.

"H-hey." Skye rasps. Her voice sounds really awful. Her tongue feels like sand.

May smiles at her. Smiles?

"You're smiling." Skye tries to sit up. Fails. Her arms feel like jelly.

May gently pushes her back down, but her smile doesn't falter. She won't stop moving around though. Wiggling. She's wiggling.

"How are you feeling?"

"Weird." Skye replies, but she couldn't ignore the way the pilot seems to spin in front of her. "Wiggling? You're dancing?"

A low chuckle supplements May's smile. It's a very odd sight. "You're still high." She tells her, still chuckling.

"I'm Skye. It's not high." She insists with a frown. "The sky is high. I'm not. I'm Skye."

"Yes, you are." May says. She brushes some stray hair on Skye's forehead. "How does some ice chips sound?"

Skye nods her head a couple of times. Then a few more. May had to literally stop her from nodding. She doesn't stop chuckling. "I'm thirsty."

"Okay, let me get some for you." May momentarily disappears from her view. But she could still hear her move around beside her. When she comes back, she's holding a small cup with the ice that she promised. She offers her a few chips. It's soothing.

"Better?" May asks her.

Skye nods. "Thanks." She waits a beat and bites her lip. "Watcha doing?"

May scrunches her eyebrows. "While you're out?"

Skye nods again.

"The usual." May answers evasively.

"The usual." Skye repeats, humming in assent. "Me too. My bed, my usual." With her face all serious, she points to her head and asks, "Think I'd be growing leaves?"

May had to bite her tongue to stop herself from snorting. She had her fair share of forced recumbency after being injured in the field so she may have an idea on how boring this must be for Skye. There's no way she'll be satisfied with Jemma's marching orders of staying put and doing nothing until she deems her ready.

Skye pouts at May's expression. "I am not even allowed to sit!"

"Well, can you sit?" May asks although she pretty much knows the answer.

Skye clenches her jaw in concentration before trying to raise her head and push herself up. There's no pain in her abdomen but it feels eerily dull. Her efforts end up with a low groan. "Ugh," her back barely lifts off the bed yet she is already breathless. "I hate beds!"

"I can prop your back with pillows if you want." May suggests.

Her pout returns with a vengeance. "That's not sitting."

"It's been two days since they pulled the tube out of your throat." May says. "Give yourself time."

"I have time!" Skye protests. "Too much time! I have leaves!"

"Tell you what," May begins, "tomorrow morning, once you're more coherent, I'll teach you some meditation techniques to pass the time."

"More wiggling?" Skye asks, perking up a bit. It doesn't sound as fun as the other activities she has already lined up in her mind once she gets out of here, but it is something to do.

"What's with you and wiggling?" May asks with a low chuckle. "But no, that's not what I have in mind."

"Tai chi?

"No, not Tai Chi," May replies, "but similar."

"And not moving."

May nods curtly. "Not moving."

Skye sighs in defeat. And this point, she's so bored she's willing to take anything. Will Warden Simmons allow her to do knitting?

No, no, scratch that. Definitely not knitting. Jemma is too stringent with her house arrest that if she ever starts knitting now, she'd be able to make enough mittens even for her great grandchildren's great grandchildren. That's a lot of mittens. And then how about her leaves?

"Sorry I got shot." Skye mutters to the ceiling.

The pilot's head whips up at that. The twinkle in her eye suddenly disappears. "Why are you sorry about that? What happened wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't good enough."

Skye is barely seems lucid yet her words still manages to land a hard punch to the specialist's gut. May couldn't find the words to say.

"You must be very disappointed in me."

"Skye…"

Skye shakes her head and smiles. It didn't reach her eyes. "Forget it."

"Skye, look at me."

The injured hacker does what she's told.

"What you did, not all agents are brave enough to do that." May says.

Skye rolls her eyes and frowns. "Because they are not as stupid as I am." She makes some unintelligible sound. It must still be due to the drugs. Actually, Skye's handling the morphine relatively well, as far as limiting the nonsense sprouting out of her mouth goes. "I am not an agent."

"No, you're not." May agrees. She caresses Skye's cheek. She couldn't be more proud of her if she was her own child. "But you've just proven how much better you are than that."

"Better?" She asks. "Like chocolate chip ice cream?"

"Yes." May affirmed, fighting off a smile. Sometimes she can't help but wish that she didn't hand her training to Ward. She would deny it until her very last breath, but the truth is, she'd really love being Skye's S.O. "Better than ice cream."

"So you're not disappointed?" The hopefulness in her tone did not go past her. May is incredibly touched by how much Skye values her opinion, even when drugged.

"No, I am not disappointed." May replies. "What I am is proud."

"Really?" Skye asks, eyes widening like a child in a Christmas morning. "Me getting shot made you proud?"

The specialist nods. "Your bravery impressed me. Not a lot of people can do that."

She mulls over that for a moment. "I should get shot more often, then."

May playfully flicks Skye's forehead. "Do not even think about it." She warns using that signature intimidating tone of hers. "Scare us like that again, and I'll be the one to shoot you myself."

"I don't think that sounds right." Skye makes a face that almost makes May laugh, then adds, "but I'm not sure if my head's working properly."

"Based on the figures on the screen, your blood right now is pretty much made of morphine."

Skye purses her lip and takes in the new information. "Is that a good thing?"

"Yes, it is." The older woman agrees. "It helps with the pain."

Skye tries to look down and check her abdomen herself. If no one told her she got shot, she probably wouldn't have noticed the thick bandages wrapped around her. "Did I really get shot?" She asks. "I'm beginning to doubt it."

"Well, I could not say the same for us." May says.

A contrite look creeps onto Skye's features. "Jemma did mention that my heart stopped a couple of times."

"It was four." The poor girl's practically traumatized. She even swore to take additional medical courses when they finally touch back down to base. Add an MD to her two PhDs.

"Oh." Skye bites her lip. Now she is sure that the feeling of guilt swirling around her gut whenever she Simmons is warranted. The biochemist has developed some sort of habit of just staring at her for about a full minute every time she goes to her. It's like she literally has to repeatedly reassure herself that what she's seeing is actually real. That she's awake and not dying.

And her heart stopped four times? That's a lot. She grimaces. "That probably explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why my chest feels…" Her face takes on a weird expression as she tries to think of the right word, "blargh."

May's posture stiffens slightly, but she says nothing. Skye, on the other hand, is too doped up to notice. "What happened to the other guy?" She inquires.

"Who, Quinn?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Do you still remember the man's face?"

It's kind of hard to forget the face of the person who shot you. Twice. No amount of drugs can make her forget that. "Yeah, why?"

"Well now, you wouldn't."


	3. Jemma

_Ever since Skye was a child, she's used to small spaces. Tiny corners where no one could see her, nooks and crannies where no one will disturb her. Perhaps that's why living in a van appealed so much to her._

 _This small room, however, is different. It didn't feel even a bit as comforting as her van. The air is warm and moist; the damp floor reeks of decay, of rotten fruit. Her stomach lurches at its scent._

 _A voice suddenly rattles her._

" _And if I wanted you to hurt her? You know… kill her. Will you?"_

 _That voice, she's heard that before. Fear grips her heart for some reason she could not completely explain. Her breathing speeds up._

" _I mean, what would hurt Agent Coulson more than to lose his pet project?"_

 _She needs to get out of here. Anywhere but here. It's not safe to stay. No, no, no…_

 _The pain sharply lances through her gut, a blast of fire burning her from the inside. Cold sweat forms on her forehead. Her legs lose strength. It sends her knees buckling, her body almost toppling forward._

 _She hardly had the time to process what just happened when she feels a second burst of heat tearing her apart. Her vision swims._

" _I'm sorry. I have my orders too."_

"No!" Skye screams, her body shooting forward. She is drenched in sweat, panting, heart pounding uncontrollably. Then the pain registers. It sends her crashing back on the bed again, crying out in pain. She curls up like a ball, but it's of no use. Her insides are on fire. "Fuck, goddamnitfuck!"

"Oh no, why did you sit up so quickly?" Jemma's panicked voice reaches Skye's ears at last. Apparently, her hands are on her shoulders, rubbing them gently in a gesture that is meant to impart comfort.

A soft whimper is all Skye could muster. She thinks she's going to pass out.

"I will be adjusting your morphine drip, alright?"

"No p-please. I'm—I'm fine." Skye grits out finally, though what her face shows a clear contradiction of what she just said. She deliberately relaxes her trembling body back to her original supine position, perhaps in an attempt to prove her words. Thank god the pain is already starting to wane.

Jemma is not buying it. "Of course you are."

"I mean it Jemma." Skye insists as she stares at her friend with imploring eyes. She doesn't want to be put to sleep again. "Please."

"At least let me give you something for the pain." Jemma says. "It won't be as effective, but it would not make you drowsy, I promise."

Skye swallows, then nods. "How long will I be staying here before I can get up?"

"Well," Jemma considers her question for a moment. If it were strictly up to her, even a month is far too soon. But then again, she knows how stubborn Skye could get. She can practically haggle her way out of anything. "How does three weeks sound?"

"Three weeks?" Skye gapes at her, looking so close to hyperventilating at the new information she's given. She thought I'd just be here for a couple more days max. "That's too much!" She could watch all seasons of Doctor Who, and still have time to spare for all ten seasons of NCIS in three weeks. God knows how many episodes those two shows have.

 _That's because you're not the one who pumped your chest when you coded on me four times._ "You may be healing at an exponential rate, missy, but you're no Steve Rogers." Simmons tells her. "The doctors in Zurich did just pull two metal slugs from your got not even a week ago."

"What do you expect me to do here in three weeks?"

"They did specifically place a lot of ceiling tiles on this pod for a reason." Simmons says with an overly cheerful smile, earning her a glare from Skye.

"I'm being serious here, Simmons." Skye tells her. "At least give me my laptop."

"And risk you hacking to our feeds and get worked up with the ongoing missions?" Simmons shakes her head before shooting Skye a firm look. "No."

"How about an oven toaster, is that not allowed too?" Skye sarcastically asks.

"You are still on a liquid diet, Skye."

Of course she'd take the question seriously. God, she feels like she's back in the fourth grade. "That was a rhetorical question, Ms. Warden."

"You know you can always take up Coulson on his offer that he'd just do his work here. He said all he needs to bring down are a bunch of papers anyway." Simmons suggested.

"Please, god, no." Skye shakes her head fervently. "The man has been smothering me like crazy ever since I woke up. I think he's led to believe that me getting shot had magically turned me into an armless infant."

"Come on, Skye," Jemma says, "it can't be that bad. He cares for you, just like we all do."

"He spoon feeds me with soup every half an hour!" The dread in Skye's voice is palpable. She may not be able to stand, and fine, even sit up, but she can still very well hold a goddamn spoon. "I get that he cares, I do, but—"

Simmons shrugs as if it was no big deal. "We almost lost you, Skye."

Skye takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. She hasn't won an argument that starts with that line ever since she woke up, and she doubts she'll start winning them now. "I know that Jemma, but please… I am dying of boredom in here!"

"Skye…"

Skye knows better than to try pressing her luck about the laptop again. "How about a book?"

Simmons considers that for a moment then smiles. "Alright. Just stay there and I'll bring some down for you."

The injured hacker yells after her before she could completely disappear from her view. "If you dare bring down here those thick Biochem books of yours, I swear to god, Simmons, I will strangle you with my IV lines!"

Skye is bored. She is so bored; she is really tempted to gouge her eyes out using her own fingers, just to have something more interesting to do. She's been on her back for almost two weeks now, and if not for her constant twisting and turning, she'd probably have a couple of bedsores right now.

Three days ago, Simmons finally caved to her puppy dog eyes and allowed her to have a small entertainment set in her room. Sure, the said set only contains a small TV, and a DVD player with a handful of preprogrammed comic book-based movies she has already seen before, but it is better than nothing.

She still couldn't get over the fact though that after staying for months in the Bus, it is just now that she realizes that they don't have Netflix. (The atrocity! What kind of abhorrent way of life did she just sign up for?)

But save for that little hiccup, things have been going great. Skye is on her third movie for the day, still tied stretched out lazily on her bed, with a remote control on one hand, and a spoonful of oatmeal in the other.

Since this morning, she graduated from liquid soup whatevers to somewhat solid looking goo. Because, yay, her gut is just working like a six month old infant now! A week ago, she probably would've considered that accomplishment as absurd, laughable even, but right now, she'd take all the improvements she could get. If she's moving up the food chain, then it won't be long before she can be back on her feet, right?

Lost in her thoughts, she accidentally drops the remote control. It was a toss between her goo-filled spoon and the remote, really, and Skye being a quick thinker, sacrifices the device in favor of her spoon. She couldn't risk messing up her sheets with her food because doing so means Fitz, Simmons, and Ward has to roll her (again) like a log so they could change the covers without jostling her wound.

There's nothing more embarrassing than having three grown people moving you around while they change your beddings because you are too feeble to do it yourself. (Oh, wait, there are more embarrassing things she could enumerate just from the top of her head. She goes through that at least once a day ever since she woke up, but she'd rather not think about it.)

Back to her current dilemma: Her TV is stuck on a blank display, and the only thing that could change it has fallen to the floor.

Skye couldn't just wait for Simmons to come in and check on her. She could be waiting for hours. And she doesn't think a fallen remote is enough reason to page the biochemist using the intercom connection Fitz had installed on her bed.

Without having much of a choice, she scoots to the edge of her bed and tries to reach for it herself. Her vision blurs for a split second as her finger wiggled their way towards the wayward little object on the carpet, so she stops for a moment to gather her bearings and to clear her eyes before pushing further. Even if she's riddled with bullet holes and probably has a very long ex-lap scar on her abdomen to go with it, she refuses to believe that she is too pathetic right now that she could not even pick up objects that are merely a foot or two away from her.

She's so close…

"Ha! Gotcha." She lets out a triumphant squeal when the wretched thing finally meets her reaching hand.

At least now she has an actual proof that she's improving. If this were three days ago, she probably wouldn't be able to scoot even an inch without practically setting her intestines on fire, let alone reach down on the floor and pick up something as banal as a remote control.

Her celebration, however, does not last that long.

The pain in her belly begins as a low throb. It is actually barely noticeable, and she probably wouldn't mind it if not for the familiar stain that started to form on her covers. The red blotch was small at first, but then at every breath she takes, it gets bigger… and bigger… and bigger. When it's about the size of her palm, panic starts to kick in.

That can't be good.

Calming her mind, she takes slow breaths, just like what she saw May do all the time. Panicking will only make things worse, especially when it comes to stopping oneself from bleeding to death.

Take it from someone who knows.

As carefully as she can, she presses the intercom button above her head. Fitz said it's a line straight to the lab. It may be a little late but, she pays extra special care not to jostle her wounds this time.

"Um, Jemma?" She croaks. Her voice is as raspy as hell, and she probably sounded way better three months ago when she had a nasty bout of laryngitis. She sounded pretty awful then.

"Skye, what's wrong?" Jemma's tone is stuck somewhere between worry and please-don't-tell-me-you-didn't-just-do-all-the-things-I-specifically-told-you-not-to-do, and suddenly Skye thinks it's not a good idea telling her after all. But then again, there is a high possibility that she's bleeding profusely somewhere, and she'd rather not bleed herself dry before she calls for help.

She settles her head back dejectedly onto her pillow. Simmons is going to kill her. Really, really kill her. "Um, I think I did something—"

Skye barely finishes her sentence when she hears urgent footsteps coming towards her room. Simmons' eyes widen in horror at the sight that welcomes her, and suddenly Skye feels as if she's just got caught doing something very much illegal. The hacker smiles guiltily at her friend. "Before you say anything… um, it doesn't really feel as bad as it looks."

Simmons lips are pursed into a very thin line. Skye is not usually scared by whatever antics her scientist friend is up to, but right now she's not entirely sure if that should still be the case.

"Hey, I'm fi—" Skye's words are cut short with just a mere palm up sign from Jemma. Her lips are still pursed, dangerously so, and all Skye wants to do at that point is to bury herself underneath her covers to shield herself from her friend's wrath. She badly needs to hide. By the looks of it, nothing short of hiding herself for all eternity could save her.

Silently, Jemma moves closer to her bed, and gestures Skye to move her arms away from the bloodied mess that was her abdomen. Skye obliges without protest, figurative tail tucked between her legs.

The injured hacker could practically sense the precariously thin and dangerous line she's currently threading as Simmons continues with her silent treatment. She looks angry, so angry that she seems as if one wrong word from her and she'd just go nuts, jump on her bed and strangle her.

"I'm so sor—"

But Skye is again silenced by the scientist, using only a single finger to shut her up this time. She continues to work on her, eyebrows twitching and gaze narrowing as she burrows deeper and deeper into her soaked bandages. Skye's only respite at that point is the knowledge that laser eyes could not actually decimate a person's entrails. Because judging the current state of her bullet-perforated intestines, she highly doubts that they would be able to handle any further violence. Or anything as equally sharp, really. Like perhaps, Jemma's glare.

When Simmons is down to the final few layers of gauze that are in direct contact with her wound, the stinging finally starts to catch up with her. It started small. Like the blotch of blood earlier. But it didn't take too long before it started to grow. It grows so quickly that by the time the last piece is pulled away from her skin, Skye is almost overwhelmed by the urge to jump off the bed and run as far away from her doctor friend as possible. And maybe curl up in a corner and die. Because sweet baby jesus on a mistletoe, that hurt like shit.

"Oh did that hurt?" Simmons asks sweetly, sarcasm so thick in her voice. She watches Skye's face as she tries to fight off a wince.

"Good. Now perhaps you'd have a better understanding of the words 'do not overexert yourself'."

"I was merely trying to reach for something that fell of my bed." Skye defended indignantly.

"You should've called someone."

"Just for that?" Skye scoffs. "I'm not that pathetic."

"And yet here we are." Simmons says. "Do you have any idea how worried—" She stops halfway through her tirade, deciding that it's best to simply keep those words unsaid. She can't do this right now.

Closing her eyes and begging the universe to give her some semblance of patience, she tiredly sighs. "You didn't pop any of your stitches. But I think it is best if I give you something to help you sleep for the time being. It would help with the pain."

A solitary tear falls from Skye's eye. "Okay." She nods contritely, accepting Simmons' pronouncement without question for once. "I'm sorry."

The heartbreaking look Jemma sees on Skye's face finally makes her realize how cruel she must have sounded. She raises a hand to her mouth to cover up the shocked gasp that had escaped from it. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry Skye." She says immediately. "I did not mean to be too harsh on you. It's just that—"

"You're just trying to look out for me. You've been taking care of me ever since _this_ happened. " Skye says, cutting her off. "The least I could do in return is to follow your advice, but instead of doing that, what I do is complain about everything. You don't deserve that."

"But still, I know I've been acting like a bitch lately." Simmons mutters. "Fitz already pointed that out to me yesterday."

"He did?" Skye asks in between sniffles. She just couldn't picture how that particular conversation went. "Oh, Jemma, I don't think you're being a bitch. Stricter than a warden in a maximum security prison, sure, but not bitchy."

Jemma's eyes narrow into thin slivers. "Not bitchy, really?"

"Fine," Skye sighs in defeat. Jemma can be really scary when she wants to be. "It was kind of bitchy."

The biochemist smiles sweetly at her patient. "I appreciate your honesty, Skye."

"Of course you do, you just narrow-eyed it out of me." Skye mutters under her breath.

"What did you just say?" Simmons asks. She could've sworn she heard Skye say something.

It's Skye's turn to smile sweetly at her friend. "Nothing!" she adamantly claims. "Are you still going to drug me?"

Jemma looked mildly offended by Skye's question, but she must admit, she had that one coming. "Do you want me to?"

"Will you glare at me if I said no?" The hacker tentatively asks.

"Do you want me to glare at you if you said no?"

Skye grins at her response. She thinks they're gonna be okay. "Truce?"

"Yes, Skye. Truce."


	4. Leo

_Salkri_Kachemench: Aww, thanks for your very nice comment. You are so sweet. Good to know that i'm not the only one unsatisfied of the way they've handled the transition between TAHITI and Yes, Men. I love a lot of hurt/comfort too. (But since the current season is so great, I forgive them)_

 _Haytsun: I'm glad you liked the Skimmons. I like them too. (Though honestly, I can practically ship Skye... er Daisy with everyone)_

 ** _A/N: All mistakes and typos are mine. Agents of SHIELD isn't._**

* * *

The problem about walking is, to do it correctly, the person involved must at least be able to stand.

Well, as far as Skye is concerned, that is _way_ easier said than done.

The three weeks Simmons had promised stretches out to four and a half, yet Skye thinks she is still nowhere near a quarter her physical prime. Not that she expects to reach that point anytime soon, since, well, she did almost die quite recently. But really, thirty four days? Thirty four long days and she still couldn't put her any of her feet on the ground without wailing in pain? Is she even for real?

"Believe me, Skye," Fitz tells her again for what she thinks is the twelfth time that day, "you are progressing faster than anyone I've ever seen. You're doing fine!"

 _No, Fitz_. Just…no.

Those statements are just so wrong for so many reasons.

For one, Fitz saying that she's progressing faster than anyone he's ever seen implies that he actually knows someone else who's recovering after being as injured as she was (he doesn't).

And she's doing fine? Seriously? Saying that she's doing fine is like saying that Internet Explorer is doing fine. What she's doing is not fine. It's not residing in the same country—or even in the same state—as fine. What she's doing is… what she's really been doing these past few days… it is just _sad_.

If those words were said by any other person from the team, May, or Ward, or maybe even Coulson, Skye would probably find that pep talk kind of uplifting. Specialists and field agents tend to know a lot of people recovering from very serious injuries, some even worse than what she's been through. Scientists (save for a few notable very Avenger-like exceptions), not so much.

"I feel like there are knives sticking out of my gut every time I try to stretch out my legs, Fitz." Skye whines with a pout as she gestures wildly at the engineer. "Knives!"

"I think that's a pretty normal reaction, considering the location of your injuries. It is to be expected." Fitz shrugs. And as much as she loves and adores the guy to death, he is just as bad at lying as his other half.

Actually, no. Forget that. Bury that statement thirty feet below the ground and drown it in seawater.

Nobody in their team is as bad at lying as Simmons.

Hell, nobody in the world is as bad at lying as Simmons.

Sadly though, even knowing that is not enough to make her feel any better.

Fitz looks at her expectantly. "Let's do it again on a count of three?"

Skye, who's been sitting on the edge of her bed for the longest time that day, miserably crashes her body back onto her bed in surrender. "No. No, I give up." She mutters, staring dazedly at the ceiling above her. "I'll be sitting on beds and chairs forever."

"Oh come on, lass." Fitz sits by her hip and frowns at her. "It's too early to give up don't you think?"

For a moment, Skye considers reacquainting his friend about the very universal concept of time. But then again, doing so would actually waste more of _her_ time, and she could not really afford that. "Four and a half weeks is not early, Fitz."

She's right—not that he'd tell her that. "How about we do one more try, then I'll let you rest?" Fitz asks gently. "You can even hold onto my shoulder and to the IV stand this time."

"Fine." With a loud exhale (which stings a bit in the gut area, Skye might add), she sits back up and again attempts to press her weight back onto the ground. One foot down, nice and easy…

And _again_ (oh how she hates that word), halfway through it, a blinding flash of white pain causes her to double over while wishing with all her heart and soul for her entire body to just crumple in a corner and die.

Motherf—

"You okay?" The engineer worriedly inquires as he gently guides her back onto her bed.

"Yup." Skye says between gritted teeth. Her very tightly gritted, and very pained teeth. "Perfect."

Fitz does not look like he believed that for a second, but at least he had the prudence of not telling her that. "We could always try again tomorrow, you know?"

That _again_ word… again.

God, if she ever sees Ian Quinn again she'll have his billions changed to nickels and make him swallow every single one of them.

"You've been saying that for the past one and a half weeks, Fitz." Skye complains. It's not really Fitz's fault that she's this bad with this rehab thing, but what else can she do? Complaining verbally to him is the only decent way she could vent her frustrations with herself. She would use a punching bag if she could, but then she'll remember that she actually has to stand to use that, and then she'll end up being more frustrated than before.

It's kind of a vicious cycle.

"I got you to sit, didn't I?" He points out.

Yes, and boy oh boy, did that hurt. Even the mere memory of that particular phase of her life makes her want to wince. She collapses back on the bed and flails her arms aimlessly as if she's trying to carve a snow angel out of her sheets. "And how long did that take us again?"

Fitz bites his lip, slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden. "The time it took for that is not as vital as the strides you've had in terms of your recovery."

"Really, Fitz?" Skye mirthlessly chuckles. His choice of words cannot be any more tasteless. "Strides?"

"Metaphorical strides." He clarifies, somehow deliberately making his accent thicker just to hide his anxiety about the whole situation. "Yes, sitting may have taken us longer than what is deemed ideal, but you eventually did it right?"

"I guess." Skye replies with a sigh. Though there is no doubt in her mind that she'll eventually succeed with the standing thing after some time, the steps (the figurative, and yeah, maybe even the literal steps) awaiting her afterwards actually are the ones that worry her. She's been counting the days. Breathing deeply without burning from the inside took her two weeks, sitting for another two. If standing takes two more, then how long would it take before she could resume training? Five, ten years?

Maybe she already has to dye her hair black by the time she could do another pull up.

"I could always have Ward to take over your core strength training." Fitz mentions offhandedly. He'd been doing that for a couple of times now, only that Skye keeps on pretending not to notice. "You and I both know that he's way better in this department than I am."

"No, Fitz." Skye says firmly as she fervently shakes her head. "We already discussed this. That is off the table."

"My knowledge about these things are purely theoretical, Skye." Fitz reasons. "Ward has actual experience with physical recovery and rehab. He's been through this before."

The tensing of her jaw is enough to demonstrate her aversion to his suggestion, but she still took it upon herself to put her refusal into words. "I don't want Ward to do this, Fitz." She tells him. "I want you."

"Let's be real here, Skye. Neither one between Ward and I is qualified in doing your rehab." Fitz explains. "But between the two of us, you are in much better hands with him."

"No, you don't understand." Skye argues. "He's my S.O., I don't want him to see me like this!"

"Like what? Injured?" Fitz asks in confusion. And he is absolutely confused. Everyone knows what Skye's been through, including Ward. She's been shot twice in the gut, and even bled out in front of all of them for bloody pete's sake. He's a hundred percent certain their specialist teammate would understand.

"Weak!"

All Fitz could offer her after that answer is a frown. A ginormous, very upset frown. "You are not being fair to yourself." A fingerbreadth to her right and she could have been a paraplegic. If there's anyone in the team who's most deserving of some slack, it's Skye.

Tears are welling up in her eyes but she fights hard not to let them show. She shakes her head again. "If he sees me like this before I finally get cleared for training, he'll never take me seriously… ever."

"He'll continue to make my life a living hell, sure, but I know, I know he'll always have something to hold him back. He will never push me to train harder because memories of _this," she gestures angrily to her bandages,_ "will always be lurking at the back of his mind. He already saw fail and get broken, Fitz." She imploringly looks up at the engineer. "I cannot afford to let him witness how pathetic I am in picking up the pieces."

"You are overestimating a response that hasn't even taken place."

"And you are underestimating his protective streak!" Skye irately counters.

Fitz rubs a frustrated hand over his face "You haven't even given him a chance."

"I don't have to." Skye says weakly. "I heard what he said." She was just practicing some meditative techniques May taught her when Ward silently slipped in her room and sat by her side for like, two hours. That was about three weeks ago. "He probably thought I was sleeping when he said it, but—"

The eyebrows on Fitz's forehead furrow. "Okay…" He drawls. "What did he say?"

Skye shrugs dismissively after a moment's consideration, and then sits back up again. "It's not important." She says. "But I think I can try to stand one more time." She braces herself for another round of let-us-try-to-stand-like-a-fucking-toddler-101, just to take them off _that_ particular subject, but to her dismay, Fitz merely eyes her sternly.

"If it is not important, Skye, you wouldn't be reacting like this."

"Fitz, drop it." Skye warns her friend. It was enough to tell him not to push.

"Alright, alright." Fitz raises his hands in surrender. "I won't press. But Skye, you have to at least talk to him."

"There is nothing to talk about, Fitz!"

"Skye…" The way the engineer scrutinized her features made her feel like some piece of machinery he's about to dismember.

"Fine, fine. I will." Skye eventually promises. "Just… not now, okay?"

"Okay." Satisfied with her answer, Fitz nods. He lowers his shoulder slightly to level with Skye. "Shall we try again?"

* * *

Two days after that talk with Fitz, Skye finally manages to put both her feet on the ground without having the need to double check her gut for any huge metallic objects sticking out. Her mood became increasingly more cheerful since then. This change in atmosphere, however, doesn't quite explain why her friend rushes to her room at nine in the morning, looking like he just won the Nobel Prize.

"Why do you look so happy, Dr. Leopold Fitz?" She uses his whole name because, what if he did actually win the Nobel Prize?

"You just took your first step yesterday, Skye!" Fitz responds with a grin that is about a sneeze away from splitting his face in half. "I am happy about that. You made it!"

The hacker narrows her eyes at him. "No. That's not an I-just-made-my-friend-walk smile. That," Skye says, making a circular gesture around his face using her index finger, "…is a _smile_ smile. What's up with you today?"

Fitz merely smiles dreamily at her.

She muses, "ooooohhh, you got lucky last night didn't you? Who's the lucky girl…um, or guy?" Skye asks as she sat back down on her bed, "I'm totally not judging. It's a free country. You can get lucky with whomever (or whatever?) you want."

The smirk on the engineer does not falter as he purses his lip in thought. "Actually, Skye, I did get lucky yesterday."

"Get the fuck outta here!" Skye giddily screams. She then suddenly gasps as a thought hits her. As far as she knows, they've been on air for almost half a week now. Short of taking a parachute, there's no way he could've met, wined, and err, _dined_ a girl (dined _with_ a girl, Skye. With!) yesterday. Well that's unless—

 _Shut the front door!_

"Wait, did you and a certain biochemist friend of mine actually—"

"Biochemist friend of—" Fitz repeats absently, still all cheerful and excited.

Skye's eyes widen like saucers. "Oh my god, you and Jemma?" If she's capable of jumping up and down, she probably would've already. "Quick, tell me where, when, and how!"

Fitz gapes at her, deeply puzzled. What about him and Jemma?

"Wait, wait. Shit. Fitz, no, please don't tell me how. Because… ew." Skye immediately rescinds. She covers her ears preemptively so as to prevent seepage of any unnecessary information which would most likely scar her for the entirety of her life. And maybe even the next one. And the next.

Fitz cheeks brightened like a pair of overly ripe cherry tomatoes when Skye's question finally sinks in. He splutters. "What? Jemma? What? No!"

Skye slowly looks up at her friend, still quite unsure if whatever Fitz is saying would leave her scar free for the next decade or two. "Please don't tell me it's May, because Fitz, because that is just… wrong." She's like a mother to him—to both the science babies and her, really. "So very wrong."

Fitz blanched. Literally blanched. "May?"

Skye continues her slowly becoming one-sided guessing game while Fitz's mouth remains perpetually hanging open. "Okay, if not May… then, um, Ward?"

Skye's face contorted as a certain mental image briefly passes through her brain. "Not Simmons… Not Ward… then ugh, oh my god, Simmons' hand?"

Fitz only turned a shade paler.

She has to admit, this conversation is becoming weirder and weirder by the minute. "Then Ward's hand?"

Fitz looks like he's about to pass out. But that is not before Skye delivers the knockout punch. She shudders. "Coulson?" Some male to male action is fine, she has nothing against that. But Fitz and Coulson?

"If you dare say Coulson's hand, god help me Skye, I will throw you off that bed and make you climb on it on your own!" Fitz yells, finally bringing the discussion to a close. "I am most certainly not talking about sex!"

Brushing off Fitz's threat with a silly grin, Skye motions her friend to hand her hourly snack. Coulson seem to have taken the idea of small frequent feedings too close to heart, but then again, that's a topic for another day. "You're not?"

"No!"

"Then why did you say you got lucky?"

"Oh yeah, that." The smile on Fitz's face returns with a vengeance. "I had a breakthrough yesterday, and it… resulted to this!" He raises a pair of black contraptions in front of her eyes and looks at her expectantly.

"Wow. That is a nice pair of…" she trails off, squints at the objects and frowns, "…handcuffs."

"Handcuffs?" Fitz looks scandalized by her presumption. "Why would I even make you handcuffs?"

Clearly, Fitz wasn't there when Simmons threatened her yesterday about that, right after she took her first step, post shooting. She's a little foggy about the details, since Simmons' little monologue actually lasted for at least twenty minutes, but Skye did recall her friend telling her about tying her on her bed if she ever tries something like trying to walk around the base alone. "So what are those then?"

"These are watches."

"Oooohh." Skye does not even bother hiding the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. Those are nice looking watches, sleek, spy-ish, and really, very SHIELD-y. But she is not entirely certain if they are actually worthy of that much excitement. From her end, at least.

"Hey, don't be such a spoilsport. These are special watches."

"I know they are, you are the one made them after all." She peers at the watches curiously. "But what do they do?"

"Well aside from it being able to tell time obviously, they automatically configure and adjust themselves depending on the geographical location of their users. But that's not all…"

Skye snorts. The way Fitz explains his new inventions to them sometimes reminds her of home TV shopping networks.

"They also detect and gauge skin temp, heart rate, brain activity, nerve fiber impulses, and autonomic signals." Fitz explains. "After perceiving those stimuli, these bracelets will then send the data to my tablet for analysis."

"Um, okay. But data for what?"

"You'll know it soon enough, Skye." Fitz assures her. "Really soon."

* * *

If anybody says training with Grant Ward is the hardest 24 hour fitness they've been through clearly hasn't met Leopold Fitz.

The bracelets Fitz gave her yesterday, also known as the demonic pain gauges of the underworld, has made Skye's life a living hell ever since she started using it this morning.

Wait, that was just this morning? _Fucking sh**_

There are only two things that could stop her friend from pushing her to continue doing her exercises—a ten out of ten in that digitalized pain scaling gizmo of his, and a pee break.

And honestly, Fitz is already starting to get very suspicious of her bladder's fluid storing capabilities.

"How much longer should I walk here 'til I can burn this thing to the ground?" Skye grumbles.

Fitz briefly glances at the figures on his tablet before moving his gaze at her. "Two more meters on those assistive rails, and then we'll take a ten minute break."

God, as if walking with two holes and a sutured slice in her gut aren't agonizing enough already, he had to use the metric system too? "What's my pain rating?" _Please say ten, Fitz. Please say ten._

"A six." Fitz reads. "You can do it, Skye."

Her knees are shaking like a goddamn vibrator on high, and it's just a six? That thing must be broken. Really, really broken. "Remind me again why I chose you to do my rehab over Ward?"

"Stop whining." Fitz orders her. "Start walking. After the break, we'll move to modified sit ups."

"Sit ups?" Blood drained from Skye's face. The move that would most likely give running a chainsaw through her torso a run for its money? "You gotta be kidding me."

"Modified sit ups." Fitz clarified. "You'll see what I mean in a while. It'll be fun!"

Fun? She highly doubts that. "Looking forward to it." Skye says dryly.

She is _not_ looking forward to it.

* * *

 **I have Ward's and Coulson's chapters outlined, but I'm still open to suggestions since I haven't completely written them yet. Just PM me or put your suggestions in the review section. Thanks!**


	5. Grant (Part 1)

**I never thought I'd be writing a oneshot in this series as long as this one, so I took the liberty of splitting this into two parts. I'll do my best to update soon.**

* * *

"I've always feared this day would come."

The voice booms out so loudly out of nowhere that Skye almost had to literally grab her heart from inside her chest to stop it from jumping out. Her head was then wedged between two bottles of wine and a container of some day old mac n' cheese inside the fridge, so if not for her reflexes, she probably would've startled herself into a major head trauma. "Jesus," she gasps.

"Not even close, Skye." The way her name so easily rolls off his tongue barely manages to subdue the incessant pounding in her ears. He really scared the shit out of her.

Why is this man puttering around the kitchen at three in the morning anyway? As far as she could remember, cupboard and refrigerator reconnaissance is her hobby, not his. "What are you doing here?" She asks him with her back still turned. She takes a couple of calming breaths to quiet her hammering heart.

"Weird." He notes. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

She is preparing to shoot him a very nasty glare when a sudden burst of light blinds her the moment she turns. A familiar sound quickly follows it, forcing Skye to jump back a few paces with a yelp. What the—

He just took a picture of her. In her Buzz Lightyear pajamas.

With a smirk worthy of a thousand unladylike shivers, Ward gives his phone an approving nod. "Nice."

After that, all Skye sees is red. "Hey!"

Having some astounding reflexes himself, the specialist smoothly jumps out of her swiping distance before she could as much as blink.

"Give that to me right now, you little fucker!" She tries to snatch the said phone from his grasps, but unfortunately, she's still too injured to seriously wrestle the wretched thing from the specialist. She just started walking again around a week ago. "Erase that, or I will kill you!"

Honestly, she isn't sure why she feels the sudden need to stoop to violence just to gain possession of his stupid little phone; it is just what people usually do after they get a photo of them stolen.

Well, it is that, or because he caught her in her Buzz Lightyear pajamas.

And fine, it may also have something to do with the fact that he didn't even give her the chance to run a brush through her hair before taking the shot. Come to think of it, she couldn't actually remember the last time she saw a brush.

Her blood temperature crashes from warm to frozen cold when the realization finally hits her.

Dear god! He just immortalized her horrendous bed head!

"Delete that, Ward." She firmly orders the specialist, more determined than ever. Bring that photo and put it side by side with a newly hatched baby chicken, and nobody will see the difference. "Delete it now!"

To her utter dismay, instead of taking pity on her horrible fate, her failure merely forces a self satisfied grin on Ward's face. He looks thoroughly amused and so infuriatingly proud of himself.

The bastard.

Skye fights the urge to pout, but the task begins to prove itself to be incredibly challenging the longer she stares at the smug expression that Ward so openly flaunts.

"This is gold!" He sniggers. "Definitely golden."

With unadulterated anger and irritation fueling her, she tries another tactic—one that she has spent years and years of arduous work to perfect. The weapon that has defeated legends. Killed giants. Enslaved the world!

 _The eyes_.

Nobody has refused _the eyes_.

Ever.

After three short seconds, Ward finally decides to speak. "Um, Skye," he is regarding her face with a curious look as he asks, "what are doing?"

 _Win!_

Skye mentally congratulates herself as she turns her tactic up a notch. You will not even know what hit you, Mr. Robot. You, Mr. T1000 sir, are going down.

So, so down.

"Are you about to fart?" The question is asked so innocently that Skye momentarily doubted the state of her own bowels. It doesn't last very long.

Wait, fart?

FART?

As in dripping ass fart?

At an utter loss of how to properly react, Skye mouths gapes wide on its own. Like a fish. A drowning fish.

With that, Ward finally gives up trying to conjure a serious expression and snorts. Clearly, he is in no mood saving some cute drowning fishes in his vicinity. "You should've seen your face, rookie. Because that..." He tells her in between chuckles. "...is way more photo worthy than anything I've ever seen."

Skye's nostrils flared in indignation. In retrospect, she might have overdone it a bit. Just a bit. But there's no way that cute and cuddly look she tried to pull looked anything like an expression of someone who's about to taint the air with some noxious post digestive gas. "You do know that I could hack that photo off your phone, right?"

"Sure." Ward tries to smoothen the grin off of him, but fails miserably. "If you have a laptop, which, I as I could recall, item number six in Simmons' list of things you can _absolutely_ not touch."

Sometimes Ward could really amaze her whenever he uses his impeccable attention to detail on her.

Too bad this is not one of those times.

"What?" There's no way he knows all that shit, too. Fitz could barely keep up with them-and he's a genius.

"Oh, so you've forgotten about the list? No worries. I can enumerate them for you." He ticks each item using his fingers, his smirk getting wider and wider after each one. "Item number one, the ground. Patient Skye's feet, with or without any form of footwear, must not touch the floor unless otherwise permitted. A lengthy reprimand awaits Patient Skye and anyone who will directly, or indirectly assist her in doing so. Item number two, alcohol. Under no circumstances Patient Skye is allowed to touch, sip, and even sniff alcohol of any kind, shape, or form. Same reprimand. Item number three, things one foot above the Patient Skye's head. Item number four…"

She stops him right there. "I get it! I get it! You don't have to remind me about that too!" Having Simmons nag her about that all day, everyday, is bad enough already. She really doesn't need more of that from anyone else. She can enumerate that crap in her sleep. "God!"

"Oh, but there's twenty six more to go."

She growls at that. "Mention that list again and I will pull your tongue out and feed it to a school of piranhas."

"There are no piranhas in the country below us." Ward says. "You'd know that if you've read instead of glared at the Marine Biology book Simmons gave you the other day.

She throws her arms exasperatedly. If this conversation goes on, her head is going to explode. "You know what? You win. Keep the photo; flash it in all the screens in the bus. Print it out and hand it around, see if I care!" Unlike her S.O. who seems to have nothing better to do than to pester his colleague hours and hours before dawn, Skye has more pressing matters to attend to. Extracting her chocolate mint chip stash from the fridge, for instance. The thought of getting some ice cream is almost enough to lift her spirits off the dump where Ward had just thrown her into.

She steps away from him to do just that. But unbeknownst to her, she's up for a very upsetting discovery.

Make that a non-discovery.

Her freakingly sweet and creamy hope! The answer to all her prayers—it's all gone.

Gone!

"I just finished all the ice cream, if that's what you're looking for." He mutters while peering over she shoulders, not even sounding a tad apologetic of his crime.

She gives him the finger but does not give up her search. He's lying. He's just trying to trick her. He's just trying to trick her!

"You might want to check the garbage chute. I'm sure you can find the containers somewhere in there."

The said chute is where she finds herself looking next. "There's no way—"

Oh. My. God.

And there, lying on top of her empty box of cereal and a clump of something she'd rather not identify, are three empty tubs of ice cream.

Quicker than anything else he's ever seen, Skye turns to Ward. She screeches in horror. "You ate them all?" The knowledge made her feel violated for some reason—honestly, she feels more violated by it than after having her picture stolen by her S.O. "Every single one of them?"

The way he's grinning at her makes her want to throttle him. Then perhaps chop off all his limbs and scatter them all over the Atlantic. "If all we have are those two and a half tubs of the chocolate and mint thing, then yes," He smirks. "I did."

"I don't believe you." She says, her eyes narrowing dangerously into very thin slits. Something fishy is going on. She could literally smell it. It has her biochemist friend's name written all over it. There's no way a health nut like Ward finishes two and a half tubs of ice cream in one night. "Did Simmons put you up to this?"

"The ice cream, no, that was all me. I got hungry." Ward shrugs dismissively.

"You got hungry?!" He should really be thankful of her self-restraint—a trait which, apparently, he doesn't have. As far as ice creams are concerned. "That's two and a half tubs!"

"I was really hungry." He explains. "The photo, however, that is the one for Simmons."

A confused look settles on Skye's features. With a silent promise of going back to the topic of ice cream in a jiffy, she asks. "Why would Jemma need a picture of me?"

"She's Simmons." Ward reasons. And frankly, even Skye thinks that that is reason enough.

"Come on, I know that our mutual scientist friend has this need to document everything about my recovery and all, but geez Ward, I don't think the entire medical community would be all that interested with the Katy Perry concert on top of my head at three in the morning!"

"That part about three in the morning is precisely the point of this picture, Skye," Ward says as he shows her the screen of his presently out-of-reach phone. She's right. She's a hundred percent sporting a baby chicken grunge look in that thing. "This is a direct violation of item number one on your list of untouchables. I could gladly repeat them all to you, if you want. Let me see… item num—"

"Don't," she cuts him off before he could get the chance to enumerate those bloody items again, "…even think about it."

If a glare could burn, he'd probably be charcoal by now. Not that he cares though. "I bet your favorite doctor isn't aware of these covert escapades of yours."

"Doctor?" The laugh that escapes her throat sounded so fake, she herself almost cringed. "Ha, you mean my parole officer? You know, the small scary woman, British accent, loves needles, that one?"

He scratches his chin in thought. "Is it just me, or your answer eerily feels like a 'no'?" He asks, watching a myriad of emotions flit across his rookie's face in quick succession. Before now, he never thought sarcasm, irritation, anger, worry, and fear could all occur in the same face that fast. Truly, Skye's quirks never ceases to amaze him. "And what happened to the jail warden comparison?"

She shrugs. "Got out on good behavior."

"Good behavior, huh?" Ward makes a face as he eyes Skye slowly from head to toe. "I don't think so."

She frowns. "So what, you are using that photo to blackmail me?"

"You are walking around the bus alone, in the dark," He clucks his tongue in mock incredulity, "My god Skye, If Simmons finds out about this, she's going to have an aneurysm."

She juts her chin and glares at him some more. She is really, really tempted to punch him. Just to wipe the smirk off his face. "I am allowed to eat ice cream!"

"Sure." Ward tilts his head to one side, scrutinitizing his rookie again from head to toe. It eerily reminds her of a King Cobra that's preparing to strike. "In your room. On your bed, which is by the way the same bed that you are _not_ allowed to leave for another…" he raises his wrist his eye level to check his watch, "…four and a half hours."

"I can perfectly walk to get my own food." To prove her words, she sidesteps Ward to reach for a piece of apple on a basket beside his head. The move stretched the muscles on her side a bit, but she doubts her S.O. had noticed her wince. "See?" She waves the said apple on his face and grins before taking a huge bite. She's chewing it with much gusto it's almost comical, but she has a point to prove.

"That really looked like an item number three violation."

"And guess what," Skye says, "it didn't hurt a bit."

His smile falters. "Really?"

She crosses her arms. "Yes, really."

Now his smile has turned into a full blown frown. "You're lying."

"I'm not!" Skye insists. "I'm fine!"

"The sides of your eyes twitched." Ward deadpans, gaze pointedly directed on her face. "It's a dead giveaway."

Skye feels the atmosphere change from being a lighthearted banter to a more serious not so argumentative argument, but she didn't let that take away the grin on her face. If he's looking for a fight, then she has to disappoint. "Giveaway to what?"

"Your pain. Skye, you're still in pain." He mutters. "You're just too stubborn to let anyone see it."

She rolls her eyes at him.

"You don't have to pretend, rookie. Not to me."

She scoffs. "Oh that's rich." Her words get out before she could stop them and she wants to slap herself hard because of it. She can't have this talk. Not right now.

But it is too late. Ward eyes narrows dangerously at her tone. He's never going to let this go. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'm going back to bed." She waves him off and slowly waddles back to the med pod. He's trailing after her, she could tell, but she chooses to ignore him. When she's about to reach for the pod's sliding door, an arm suddenly stops her. He's holding the door closed.

"Ward, let go." She mutters in a low voice. A warning.

His hand merely tightens against the door. "No." He tells her firmly. They were having fun. Well, at least he thinks they were having fun. Then all of a sudden she went all weird and closed off. It doesn't make any sense. "Not until you explain to me what just happened back there."

She chuckles dryly. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do," Ward gruffly says. "And you are not going anywhere until you tell me."

* * *

 **Part 2 will be up soon, I hope.**


	6. Grant (Part 2)

**A/N: This turned out to be more Skyeward-ish than I intended. This is Pre-Hydra AOS though, so there are no hidden traitorous plots anywhere in this fic. I do not own Marvel's Agents of SHIELD.**

* * *

Ward wasn't sure what exactly happened, but the next thing he knows, he's standing in the middle of the plane's garage, his feet shifting uncomfortably against the padded floor where he and Skye used to train. "Why did you drag me here?" He asks her slowly. He has an inkling as to what Skye wants to do right then, and he doesn't like it.

She wordlessly takes a swing at him, narrowly missing his neck. The move doesn't even register to him until he's already feeling his reflexes reacting automatically to it though. "Let's have a couple of rounds, and I'll tell you." Her tone is laced with enough venom to make him flinch. She punches him again. It ends up a bit wide this time.

"Skye, what the hell?" He dodges a jab. "I'm not going to fight you!" The move, it hurt her. He could tell. But she isn't slowing down. If anything, her attacks turned more frenzied. She's gritting her teeth at every move.

"Stop!" He makes a grab for her arms, and twists them behind her back so she wouldn't move. He does it sloppily, but he's trying not to hurt her further. "Are you insane? You can't do this yet!"

She struggles against him. He is pressed so close behind her and he wouldn't budge. The grip he has on her arms is too tight. She growls, "That's not for you to decide."

He has only known her for a couple of months, but he thinks he could understand her frustration. She needs to feel in control. To get back on her feet on her own, without needing anyone to help her. Being critically injured took that away from her. She's been on her own for her whole life, she probably not used to depending on others on anything. Now, she even has to ask for permission before she could walk around the bus her own. If he were on her shoes, three days in and he'd probably gone ballistic already. This, her attacking him, is just an attempt to gain back some of the control she lost. But then again, that doesn't mean he'd just allow her to hurt herself when he knows he could do something to stop it. "You have nothing to prove, Skye."

"Look who's pretending now." She hisses.

"What? What does that even mean?" The voice he uses increases an octave. Her struggle to break free from his hold is almost laughable, but he had to give it to her, his firm refusal to let her go is not even making a dent on her stubborn resolve. "I understand your anger. You are recovering slower than you wanted. You are becoming more and more frustrated with yourself each day. It pisses you off; I get that. What I don't understand is why you are taking it out on me."

Ever since she woke up from that pod she's been distancing herself. For weeks he tried to ignore it, thinking that maybe he's just reading much into it. Though his gut has repeatedly told him otherwise, he still eats up all of her excuses to avoid him like a hungry dog. Maybe she really was too tired. Maybe her head does hurt like a bitch. Maybe she actually liked that movie. But still, in the back of his mind, he knows, something has changed. She's avoiding him like the plague. "My people skills may be lacking, but even I can tell the difference between being generally angry at everything and being just angry at one thing. Skye, you're not pissed at everything. You are just pissed at me, and I don't even have a fucking clue why."

She's been holding back on this issue for far too long that when she finally snaps she could literally feel a dam of emotions collapsing inside her, "you want to know why I'm angry? Are you so dense that I really have to spell it out for you to fucking get it?"

"Yes, Skye, I wanna know why." She's been through a very traumatic experience, and she's bound to lash out and deal with it in her own way somehow. But for her to single him out, it doesn't seem fair. "Because you are being unreasonable and you know it."

She knows he's baiting her, but she takes the bait nonetheless. She scoffs. "I'm being unreasonable? You are treating me like a child who's going to break at the slightest provocation, and all of a sudden I'm the one being unreasonable?"

With a snarl, he pulls her arms forward so that she's fully facing him. His voice is frighteningly low as he speaks, "I'm doing my best to understand you here Skye, but come on, is asking you to meet me halfway too much to ask? You're not even trying."

"Try to do what, exactly? Act like an invalid? A damsel in dire need of protection?" She asks irately. This dickwad's superhero complex is starting to grate on her nerves. She angrily shrugs his hands off of her. "Surely, your masculinist ego would have a field day with that."

She's not getting it. Goddamn it, she's not getting any of it. "You were hurt." The growl emanating from his throat sends a twinge of fear inside her chest. "A breathing tube was shoved down your throat."

She's never seen him this angry. Hell, she hasn't seen this much emotion in his face ever since she met him. But despite of it, Skye still couldn't help but roll her eyes at him. He doesn't need to remind her of what happened to her. She could recall those details herself just fine. "So what? I'm not dead now, am I?"

The utter nonchalance Ward spots on her face brings his blood into a boil. "You were in a coma for eight goddamn days!"

"Were." She grumbles with enough petulance to rival that of a child's. Why is he getting so worked up over this? It is not as if he gives a damn about her. They are just colleagues—a mentor and a student—not friends. Never friends. He already made that pretty clear. "Past tense."

"I watched you die!" He shakes his head harshly at the memory. She was so close, so close to being gone, and even after all these weeks following her recovery, of all those days he sees her slowly getting back on her feet, he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that she's here. That she's alive. "Can't you at least act like going through that meant anything to you?"

"But I'm fine now. I didn't die!" She rubs her face in exasperation and gestures wildly with her arms. "God, Ward! I don't know what else to do to make you see that."

In a moment of blind fury, he punches the wall beside her head so hard she feels the entire garage tremble. She recoils at the sheer force coming from him, but it is not enough to make her back down. She juts her chin higher and stands her ground. He can't scare her off that easily.

"For once in your life Skye, can you please just do what I tell you?"

"Why?" She challenges, "because you're my S.O.? Because you know what's best for me?" She lets out a mirthless chuckle when her words succeeded to silence him. "Tell you what, from now on, you're free from training me. We're done."

He's sure that's not how the S.O. thing works, and he's pretty sure that she knows it, too. She's not just done with him being her S.O., she's done with _him._ With narrowed eyes, he leans closer. Their foreheads are almost touching when he growls. "No, we're not done."

Skye meets his fiery gaze without as much as a flinch. "If you think I'm not good enough to be an agent, then let's just stop wasting both of our times working with each other."

Her words force him to take a step back. "What?" The question comes out sharper than he intended. That blow came pretty much out of nowhere that it really caught him off guard.

"There, I said it." Skye mutters, chin held high even though he could see how much hurt she's hiding behind her eyes. "Since you seem incapable of saying it to my face, I took care of it for you. You're welcome by the way."

"That's insane." Totally, irrevocably insane.

"Yes, I may be insane, but my god Ward, I'm not dumb." She says angrily. "And I'm sure as hell not deaf."

A look of confusion briefly displaces the anger on his face. He stares at her as if a pair of horns just sprouted on her forehead. "What?"

"I heard what you said."

He takes another step back, completely baffled at the very pained look that takes over her features. "Said when?" He does not recall saying that to her because he would never, in a thousand years, say anything like that. Especially not to her. "I don't understand."

The fire in her eyes momentarily flares at his lame attempt at denial. "I can't let you be a field agent." She thought he trusted her, that he truly believed in her. Guess she was wrong. "Too bad it's not your call to make. I do not need an S.O. who can't see past one goddamn failure."

"Wait." He says. It's about that? That's not what he meant when he said that. "Listen—"

"Listen?" She scoffs. She did listen. Wasn't she clear about that? "Why would I even bother, when you've already convinced yourself that I'm not meant to do this?" She tries to make it sound like a snarl, but the hurt she feels behind each word made it rather difficult.

"Damn it, Skye!" He hisses. "It's not like that."

"It is exactly like that!" She counters. "You don't think I could do it—that I could pass your standards. I failed once; I'd fail again, right? You don't have to keep pretending that—"

Whatever she has to say gets lost in her throat when he roughly pushes her against the wall and crashes his lips onto hers. He holds her face so close to his as he slides into her mouth with such languid strokes it made her very much weak in the knees. He is kissing her like he's quenching a yearlong thirst, and there's nothing she could do to stop him from getting his fill. She barely had the time to react though, because before she even realizes what happened, it's already over.

Ward backs away and closes his eyes as he tries his hardest to regain his composure. It's a futile attempt; judging by the way he's avoiding her eyes. He's panting like he just ran a marathon. "I'm sorry."

It's her turn to look dumbfounded. "Um…"

"There's a reason why specialists prefer being alone." He murmurs. "I don't want you in the field not because you can't be in there. I just couldn't handle—" He shakes his head, "I didn't mean to—"

She cuts him off. Her cheeks are becoming too warm for her liking. "I have to… I have to go." There's a lot of things Skye expected him to do, but she never expected him to do _that_. To kiss her like that. She never considered him being interested in her that way. He's sleeping with May, for crying out loud.

She makes it to as far as the glass doors of the lab before she feels him grab her wrist. "Skye, wait…"

She pulls her hand away and awkwardly shrugs. "I got shot. Emotions run high. You feel responsible." She shakes her head when he opens his mouth to protest. She gets it. He doesn't need to explain. "I understand how this can be a confusing time for all of us, for you most especially. You just got caught up with the moment. So let's just uh, take a step back and forget this happened okay? Or better yet, let's forget about this entire conversation altogether. I got angry about something you say, or didn't say exactly. Whatever. It's a big and weird case of miscommunication, anyway. Let's leave it at that." Let's leave it like that for a long, long time. She chuckles uncomfortably. "We'll probably just laugh this off about this in a week or two."

* * *

The following morning, Skye finds herself back on her bed, wide awake and fidgeting. She still couldn't take that brief encounter with S.O. against that garage wall out of her mind. Whenever she tries to close her eyes, images of Ward leaning towards her, closing the distance between their lips, kissing her like there's no tomorrow keeps rushing back. It is driving her absolutely nuts.

With a huff, she furiously drags a pillow from underneath her head, buries her face in it, and screams. "God I hate you!" I hate, hate, hate you! She punches the pillow on her face repeatedly.

"Oh, what did that pillow do to you now?"

She freezes at the sound of that voice. She hears a plastic chair slide towards her bed. Shit. Of course he wouldn't just let this go.

 _Kill me now._ Skye mouths against her pillow before grudgingly pulling it off her face. She emerges with a huge fake smile, which, as far as she could tell, could very much be a grimace. If Ward noticed it though, he chooses not to say anything.

"We just landed in Hawaii." He says pointedly, as if that's supposed to mean anything to her (It doesn't).

She gives him a customary nod, hoping that he'd just go away so that she could finally rearrange her way _ward_ thoughts. "Okay."

He stares at her intently. It wasn't as cold and chilly as May's signature knowing gaze, but it sends shivers down her spine all the same. "You look like a deer caught in the headlights." He notes flippantly.

 _Well, you are staring at me like you want to eat me, so forgive me for appearing slightly unsettled._ "Ha." She schools her features with as much nonchalance as she could muster and abruptly shifts the subject to a more neutral territory. "What are we doing in Hawaii?"

The fake cheeriness in Skye's voice makes him wince. "Okay. Geez." He exhales loudly. "Can we just… address the big elephant in the plane here?"

She opens her mouth, clearly intending to object, when he presses a finger on her lips. It silences her.

"I kissed you." He tells her without preamble. She wants to point out that he doesn't have to keep his finger against her mouth to say that, but she decides not to. He continues, "And it's not because I'm confused, or I'm simply carried away by seeing you hurt. I kissed you because I wanted to. Hell, I've been wanting to do that for so long."

She blinks. She couldn't think of an appropriate response to that. Her mind just went from racing to completely blank in a matter of seconds.

"I am not expecting you to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know where I stand, alright?" He leans back to his chair and grins. "So, Hawaii…"

No offense to the Hawaiians, but she couldn't care less about their island right now. All she knows is that she isn't sure what to think of what Ward said. He wanted her to know where he stands? Where does he stand, exactly? Wherever he is standing right now, one thing's for sure, it is way beyond the realm of her understanding.

And what does he mean when he said he's been wanting to kiss her for so long? Skye's been wanting to steal the cockpit from May for so long, but that doesn't mean she'll just kick The Cavalry out of the pilot's chair and expect her to just get it because again, she's been wanting to do it for so long.

Well, whatever. She needs more time to gather her thoughts regarding that particular matter. If he's offering him a reprieve in the form of a subject change ala-tropical island paradise, who is she to say no? "Are we here on a mission?"

He shakes his head. "Coulson's letting us all have a day off. We all could roam the island, take photos—"

Skye's eyes narrows at that. Wait a minute. Speaking of photos… "Where is it?" She almost forgot about those goddamn photos he took of her. In her Buzz Lightyear pajamas.

Ward smiles at her innocently. "Where is what?"

She snarls. She may be too uncomfortable dealing with that thing they did against the wall of the garage, but she's certainly not too uncomfortable to forget everything else that happened that night.

Ugh, why does her mind have to make it sound so dirty? It's not as if they did the do back there somewhere. They just kissed for like five seconds. Or five minutes (It's really hard to tell). "The photo you took with your phone. Where is it?"

"It is still here." He replies evasively as he taps the front pocket of his shirt. She could indeed see the outline of his phone through it.

The nuns at St. Agnes frequently call her a very empathetic person. They say that she has an uncanny gift of reading people, of understanding them. Things like self doubt, discontent, guilt—she could smell them from a mile away. So from a very early age, she has learned to detect a guilty party whenever she sees one. And boy, this party before her is very much drowning in guilt. "What did you do?"

"You saved a lot of copies for blackmail, did you?"

"I did not."

Well that does not feel like a lie. Which is good. That means he has no made no other copies aside from the one in his pocket. There will be no pictures of her bedhead all over the bus to surprise her later. With a calmer voice, she says, "Ward, give me the phone now."

He leans further away from her. "No."

"Hand it over, and I'll let this slide." She orders while she holds out a waiting hand. "At least you still haven't sent it to Simmons."

She's been watching him closely that she notices the moment his breath hitches almost immediately. "You did not…"

"Yeah…" He rubs the back of his head, suddenly mirroring her discomfort for the first time since he came into her pod. "…I kinda did."

As if on cue, a shrill British voice resonates inside the entire bus. "Skye, why are your parading alone around the kitchen at three in the morning?!"

Skye's eyes morph from neutral to borderline murderous in two nanoseconds flat. "You—!"

"Um," Ward winces. "Oops?"

* * *

 **Next chapter: Phil.**


	7. Phil (Part 1)

She's back in the pod again.

He should've seen this coming. Damn it. He knew he should've trusted his gut the first time she's hounded him about this crazy plan of hers.

But it's to late for such regrets now, isn't it? What's done is done. Nothing could change what happened. In fact, the best thing he could do under the circumstances is to move past all these, brush all of the shit under the carpet, keep his cool, and be done with it. Right?

 _Right?_

God, situations like this really, really makes him realize how much he should be hating his job.

He always wondered why his hair isn't growing back the way they used to. Now he's starting to have an inkling as to why.

A tired sigh escapes his lips as an earlier conversation suddenly echoes back in his head:

" _Sir, we have a situation," Ward informs him through the comms, his voice not completely devoid of emotion, "we have a man down."_

 _Man down? Those are the words any team leader dreads to hear, so with his gut twisting in tight little knots, he worriedly asks, "What? Who?"_

 _There's a hesitation in Ward's voice across the line. He isn't sure why, but for some reason he aleady knew the answer to his own question way before his specialist had the chance to respond._

" _Skye,"_

 _Coulson's eyes close on their own._

 _He has warned her about this. Hell, he has warned his whole team about this. But did anyone listen? Did anyone fucking listen? No. Not a single soul. Apparently the voice of reason does not mean anything to people anymore._

 _Coulson closed his eyes and took slow, careful breaths. The latter was nearly impossible to do, given that a figurative bucket of ice water just got dumped on his head. "Is she-"_

" _No sir." Ward said, almost too quickly. Coulson felt the man's panic seeping through the earpiece. He sounded like he's running. "The bleeding on her head looks bad but she's breathing. I'm carrying her back now to the car as we speak."_

 _How many times does she need to try getting herself killed before she realizes that it is not a good idea? "Okay, Agent Ward. Bring her back to the bus as soon as you can. I'll tell the others."_

" _This is on me sir." Ward says tightly. An engine revs loudly in the background. "I shouldn't have-"_

" _No it's not," Coulson curtly mutters. "But it's fine."_

 _That's a lie. He used to be pretty decent at that. Occupational hazard, perhaps. But damn. Even he could hear his own voice tremble. It is not fine. It is not fine at all._

" _I didn't watch her like I'm supposed to. I-"_

" _I said it's okay, Agent Ward." His voice comes out more forceful than he intended. But what can he do? This, whatever it is that happened, it is not fine. God. Nothing has been fine ever since that stupid ass billionaire Quinn pulled his stupid gun and shot her down._

" _I'm five minutes out, sir."_

 _Coulson doesn't notice how tightly his jaw is clenched until he tries to speak again. "I want a debrief as soon as everything is settled."_

 _Another lie. If it were all up to him he'd rather not know what happened-how he fucked up and almost got a team member killed again. A non-agent team member at that. Someone he recruited, someone who trusted him enough to help her with her lifelong search for family._

 _Sometimes he wonders how things would be if he simply left her alone in her van all those months ago. She'd perhaps be better off without them, without SHIELD dragging her to one dangerous circus show to another, almost always risking her life at every town they go to._

The pod door swooshes open. It jerks him out of his reverie. He doesn't even notice that he's typed in a combination code on the wall panel on autopilot.

He sees her. For some reason he wanted to punch something. This is all his fault.

"I should've hog tied you onto that bed when I had the chance." He mutters under his breath. She hasn't regained consciousness since she was brought in an hour ago. It's starting to worry him. "Instead I let you back out to the field."

They told him that's overreacting. That he's being overprotective of her. May's even alluded how he is letting his newly acquired (and vehemently denied) paternal instincts take precedence over his common sense.

Common sense, his ass. Now, who's lying unconscious in that stark white glass room filled with sounds of a million ticking time bombs? Who has a hundred rolls of gauze wrapped around her forehead? Who has ruined five perfect pieces of soft cotton linens with gallons and gallons of her own blood?

 _Trust me, I can take care of myself, A.C._

Ha.

HA.

Clearly, there's nothing better than an early morning bludgeoning to jumpstart anyone's day. The mere memory of that copper scent is enough to make his insides churn.

 _I'll be fine, A.C. Live a little. You worry too much._

Worry too much? He worried too little, that's what.

Oh god. There was so much blood.

How can anyone that small can have that much blood? She was brought in covered in so much of it he was hardly able to discern her features when he first saw her. Red has angrily cascaded down her neck and torso, staining both her shirt and whoever it was that carried her back to the bus.

How he managed not to pass out from sheer horror of the sight is beyond him.

Is it just him, or did she and his newly built team really make it their lives' mission to chop off a couple of years in his life every few months? Fitz and Ward almost got themselves killed while on mission a few weeks back. Jemma jumped off the plane. May got kidnapped and stabbed. And then Quinn-

" _Her scans are clear. It's nothing but a mild concussion with some minor lacerations." He remembers Simmons assuring him once they've brought Skye to the lab. "She's currently stable, and will most certainly be good as new in a couple of days. She'll be just fine."_

 _Feeling like his own shoulders were weighing him down, Coulson let out a heavy sigh. Jemma's expression changes, he noticed._

" _We got what we needed. Skye finished the hack." She told him, perhaps in an attempt to smoothen the deep creases which he senses were marring his forehead. Judging the frown he saw on her face though, her efforts did not seem as fruitful as she'd hoped._

" _Sure she did." He said._

 _In fact, she did it so beautifully she even got her own head hacked, too._

 _With a steel pipe._

 _He knew that his new recruit somehow tends to overachieve sometimes, but isn't this taking it a little too far?_

" _She will be fine, sir, you know that right?" Simmons asssured him again, gentler this time._

 _He scoffs."Well, the moment that little lady wakes up and hears my extensive reprimand about her reckless behavior earlier today, she'll no longer be."_

* * *

The mission was simple enough. That's what they all said. In and out, easy as pie, half an hour max. And honestly, if Skye didn't keep on insisting about being a part of it herself, physically a part of it, he probably would've agreed.

He could still vividly recall the day when first she tried to convince him to let her go. He was then sitting peacefully in his office, drinking his first cup of coffee for the day and minding his own businesss when she barged in with so much fire in her eyes. She was then hugging her laptop close to her chest. Holding it like a shield. Or a weapon. At that point he wasn't able to tell. But she sure looked as determined as hell.

But it's ony when she finally tilted the screen open, that he finally realized why.

 _Did she really-_

 _Yeah, of course she did._

Skye made a powerpoint presentation of the mission.

And it has pictures.

"Uh, Skye there's actually no need-"

Skye shuts him up with a glare that could rival May's. He's been familiar with those kinds of glare long enough to know that if he values his life at all, he must not interfere at all costs. So he didn't. He let's her do all the talking for a while.

Seriously, it was a _while_. Apparenlty, she had a lot of things to say.

It took a good half hour before the last slide dimmed. He remember wondering how she's expecting him to react. Should he tell her that she did a great job? Commend her animation skills?

Her real angle didn't reach his brain up until she looked at him expectantly and asked, "so what do you think?"

She wants him to allow her to go back to the field.

Points for effort but, hell no. No way.

"Well, the plan is detailed." Too detailed that he even saw a couple of new possible threats he missed. If anything, Skye's attempt at arguing her side just made his resolve firmer.

He saw how her face took up a pinched look as she tried to figure out his words. He had to admit, it was quite amusing. "But you agree, right? I am the only one who could do it."

"Sure, you could do it-"

"Yes!" She cut him off with a squeal.

He cleared his throat, cutting her premature celebration off.

It caused her to stare at him with an expression frozen in a confused state at his sudden interruption.

"Sure, you could do it but," he repeated, "you won't."

Coulson was able to determine the point when his words sunk in based on the exact moment her face fell. "What?"

"You heard me; you're still not going to do this mission."

"But my figures are solid!" She insisted. "Fitz even did all the statistics thing for me. The chances of me getting myself into trouble in this one is almost statistically improbable."

Coulson is pretty sure that's not what all those graphs said, but he lets it go. "My answer is still no."

"Putting me inside the compound is the most logical thing to do, Coulson. It's my job!"

"Well, too bad that it is _my job_ to decide who goes and who stays then," he replied, "because your ass stays in this plane for this one."

She groans in frustration as she turned and made her way to the door. She has barely touched the know when he spoke again.

"I appreciate the effort, Skye. Really."

"I doubt that." Then the door slammed behind her.

He sighed.

Of course, the basis she used on her persistence was sound. He is not that petty not to admit that much. Her technical skills were indeed required on site and amongst his team members, no one else is capable of accomplishing the necessary virtual magic in that damn closed system in the ten minute window they have but her.

But then again, what kind of leader would he be if he couldn't think of a gazillion alternatives? They need a tech person inside? He'll get a tech person inside.

After all, what's the use of working under a ginormous spy organization, if you're not going to use the said connection to your advantage?

He found his hand reaching for his smartphone the moment he's certain that Skye is way out of earshot.

He calls the hub.

On his first try, he went through all the proper channels. Called all the right persons. He's pretty good at that sort of thing.

At least, that's what he used to think.

As minutes ticked by and his ear is still glued onto the phone, he's starting to doubt it.

In the end, he argued with that hub-person-whoever-he-is for exactly thirty two minutes and forty five seconds. That's how long his call took. That's how long his patience lasted.

The person on the other end of the line made him bounce from one department to another, forcing him to repeat his request over and over that it almost exhausted him to tears.

Halfway through it he already knows that he's wasting him time. But he still patiently waited. Like a good company man that he is.

Bottomline was, there were no hackers available anywhere.

Seriously, what do they even need a thousand comms agent for this time of year? The academy produces hundreds of tech people per year and they couldn't even let him borrow one?

Unbelievable.

Utterly impossible.

Still unconvinced that there are really no free personnel in the hub, he decided to personally call the hub boss woman herself, Victoria Hand. Surely, she has a lot of hacker minions to spare. And surely, if there's anyone who could cut through red tape like butter, it's her.

"What is it that you need this time, Agent Coulson?" She sounded irritated, which, as far as he could tell, is her default setting. He knew better than to be offended.

"What?" She asked again. Clearly, she's not the kind of person who is so keen on waiting.

Deciding that going straight to the point would make the conversation less complicated, Coulson bites the bullet, "A hacker, I don't care what level, as long as they can code."

He heard her sigh impatiently. "Your new hire is now back on her feet, correct?"

"I wouldn't call it back on her feet." He answered, fighting off a scowl. How the woman knew about Skye's recovery was beyond him. She doesn't seem to be the type to bother herself with the physical state of people inside her own team, let alone those outside of it.

"Then what do you want to call it? She's walking now, correct?"

"She needs time."

For some reason Coulson could imagine the walking red streak rolling her eyes as she scoffed. "Fury gave you a team, Coulson, not an adoption center."

The level nine agent may not be the most talkative of the senior officers but he heard her message loud and clear. She thought that he's a worrier. A paranoid dad who's just been asked by his daughter to allow her to go to her first date. A soft touch. But geez, just because because he couldn't send his own recently injured hacker out on her own again doesn't mean he's a tenderheart. Or being fatherly. He is not being overprotective. He isn't.

Like the rest of the team, Agent Hand pressed him to let Skye back out there. As if she really gives a damn about Skye's confidence. The woman probably is just refusing his request for a temp just to annoy him. Or maybe to keep herself from doing all that painful transfer paperworks. He has to admit; they tend to be as complicated as hell sometimes.

Whatever her motivations were, it still doesn't change the fact that she wants Skye back on the field. For all he knows she's just banking on the possibility that Skye would get herself killed properly the second time around. He surely wouldn't put it past Vic. She tends to be that vicious to people she doesn't trust. And nothing screams untrustworthy better than a former activist hacker with the occasional impulse control issues.

And weirdly enough, that same bunch of issues is the reason why he couldn't just let Skye go and do as she pleases. He isn't sure why, but she's somehow put it in her mind that she has to always do anything and everything to get the job done. Even if it means giving up her own life for it.

Take Quinn's villa incident for instance.

Sure, that line of reasoning would probably make her a damn good agent. But come on, what use would that be if she ends up dead way before he could even hand her a badge?

This is why he couldn't simply give Skye the freedom that she wants. He couldn't let her face the danger head on this soon. He can't clear her for the field just yet. The field is a place of nightmares. Where bad guys, and aliens, and guns, and god knows what else are waiting for her with bated breath. Where she is vulnerable. Where she can be shot again.

"Are you going to send me one of your agents or not?" He asked, eager to end the conversation already. He doesn't need the red-haired woman to lecture her on how to handle his own team.

"No." Victoria replied. "You have your own people. Use them."

He gritted his teeth. "Well, thanks for nothing."

He would've slammed the phone if he could. He recalled wishing he'd used the landline.

God, it's practically just minutes after she gets back on her feet, how can people think she's ready for assignment already? Was he the only one who saw how life slowly drained out of her body in that filthy little cellar in Italy? Was he the only one who saw her die about a hundred times in that pod?

And no, he is not being unreasonable. What he is is cautious. Yes, that's it. He is merely being cautious. With good cause, of course. He simply doesn't want to risk her daughter agent getting herself hurt again. Not under his watch. Not again.

Hell, if he has any say in it, never again.

"It's time sir. She's been cooped up in this plane for too long." Ward told him the other day. "We need her out there."

Well, he needs her in here. In the plane. Alive. Unshot. Why can't anybody understand that?

It's too early to let her back. God, even allowing her back on the plane's command center sends his stomach tightly twisting in guilt-laden knots. How could they expect him to just send her to the field?

"Sir, when are you letting her back out?" He remembers Fitz ask just a few hours after Ward talked to him. Coulson's starting to sense a pattern there, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"Who?"

"Skye, sir. She's getting a bit twitchy, I'd say. A few more days and I fear she'd be throwing a fit inside our lab."

And then of course, there's the person in question.

"I already told you; there's no way I could hack their computes from up here!" Their resident hacker explains, just a little shove away from shrieking in frustration. Judging by fire in her eyes, she still can't understand why he is being so unyielding about this. "It's a closed system. I have to be on site."

"There has to be another way." He can't remember the number of times they'd argued about it days before the mission, but it sure as hell more than what his fingers could ever count. "There always is."

"But sir-"

He shushed her. "No buts," he said, "You're staying in the bus, and that's final."

She opens her mouth to protest, but she must've seen something on his face that made her rethink her words. She sighs in defeat.

"Fine." She grumbles and makes her way back up the spiral staircase, her shoulders slumped. "I'll be in my useless room if you need me... doing useless things. Maybe I'll twiddle my thumbs up there for a change."

"Coordinating communications is not useless." Phil hollered to her retreating back. "But I'm glad we've reached an understanding."

"Sure, whatever," she waved at him, back still turned, "...dad."

Any other time he'd be flattered by the term, but something in her tone made it sound like it wasn't meant to be a compliment. She's pissed.

Well, she's better off pissed. As long as it's not mortally injured or dead, he'll take it. "Good night, Skye."

She mumbled something under her breath. He wasn't near enough to catch any of it. If the door slam was of any indication though, he may be better off not hearing it.

* * *

He gives in the next day.

In hindsight, he knew he shouldn't have agreed to it that easily. He should've stayed strong despite that pleading puppy dog eyes she gave him.

Though in his defence, perhaps his choices at the time were limited. He was, after all, tag-teamed. Cornered.

Trust Skye to convince the entire team to arrange an intervention-like meeting for him. Hell, even May was there.

As if he's the one being unreasonable.

"The file we need to stop being downloaded is a stolen list of viable Index candidates. " Skye tells him, as if he doesn't already know that. "Sir, they are powered people. If you don't let me go, people will die."

 _If I let you go, then you might die. Again._

It has just been a couple of weeks since Italy. He shakes his head. "No, Skye. I told you; it's too risky."

May's eyebrows arch higher. A clear indication of disagreement from her end. But geez? Since when did any mission felt too risky for her? He could send her jumping in the middle of a warzone under enemy fire and she'd probably would just call it a minor inconvenience.

"I've assessed the situation, sir." Ward pipes in, but not before Coulson saw Skye nudge him not so softly in the ribs. "It's basically in and out. It's unlikely that they would see any of us coming."

"Since when did a mission of ours become a simple in and out?" Coulson counters.

It is then when Skye finally looks at him with _that_ look. And god, as he averts his gaze from her he notices that everyone else is sporting the same expression too. Well, not Ward. Or May. The former was trying so hard not to laugh though, while the latter...

Her side of her eyes were twitching in mirth. She's clearly enjoying this entire thing more than she's letting on.

 _Traitor._

"Okay." He breathes out in resignation. A collective squee bursts out from his three younger team members almost immediately, but quickly he holds out a hand to silence them. "Okay but, you-" He gives Skye the sternest glare he could muster, "will wear a vest. You will be carrying an ICER," he shakes his head as he mulls about something, "no make that two ICERs, and you'd be with Ward at all times."

"Talk about overkill," Skye comments, "but yay!"

It is just his luck that merely a couple of hours after that, he realizes that even his overkill isn't enough.

"Staring blankly at a wall panel-that's never a good sign."

May's way of greeting never ceases to startle him. Where the hell did she come from? "What?" He asks.

"I can feel your guilt from a mile away." She explains.

He could always trust May to brag about her hound dog skills when he needs them the least. Crossing his arms, he replies, "I'm not feeling guilty. She asked for this."

She merely gives him a raised eyebrow.

He presses his lips into a thin line, as if physically restraining himself to say anything else. He is not feeling guilty about this. No, not guilty at all.

May schools her features into it's default neutral setting and shrugs. "Okay."

"Okay, good." He watches her retreating back as she walks away. However, before she could fully disappear at the end of the hallway, Coulson surprises himself with his own words. "I agreed to this. Now she's back in there again."

May turns back to him and tilts her head. She takes a couple of steps closer to have a better look at his friend's face. She's never seen him this worried before. "Skye's fine. It's a small bump in the head. Stop worrying."

He angrily jabs his thumb towards the medical pod as he starts to pace. "She's unconscious. Of course that is not fine!"

"It's an accident. They happen." She mutters with an almost indecipherable frown.

"Yes, and the same accidents also tend to get people killed."

"She's not dead." May says. "We saved her."

"I brought her into this circus." Coulson mutters bitterly. "Hell, I convinced her to join this team. If she gets hurt, it's on me."

"Phil," she taps his cheek softly to make him look at her in the eye. "she is not dead."

"But she could've been!"

"Phil, look at me." May orders.

He hesitates at first, but he knows better than to go against one of his friend's requests.

"Skye is not dead." She states. "Repeat it to me."

"Skye's not-" He stops, rolls his eyes, and steps back. "May this is stupid."

"Then why can't you say it?" May asks. "Have you even talked to her? I mean, really talked to her?"

He scoffs. "Of course I have. If you can recall, that's the same talk where I said she couldn't go out and she wouldn't take no for an answer."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." May says. "You never really spoke to her about Italy-"

Coulson makes a waving gesture with his hand. "There's no need-"

She cuts him off in return, her insistent eyes focused solely on him and him alone. He feels like he's drowning in them. "Talk to her."

* * *

"Just when I thought I've finally outgrown this place." Skye mutters, groaning, pulling him out abruptly while he's still neck deep in his thoughts. He's been sitting by her bedside for two hours now, but he still couldn't figure out what exactly he should say.

"Hey." He greets her softly. "How are you feeling?"

 _That's it? How are you feeling?_

So much for his earlier plan of unfiltered lecturing.

"Like I've just been hit in the head with a train." She purses her lip as she assesses her own head with her fingers. She cringes when they hit a particularly sore spot on her forehead. It's wrapped in gauze. "Wait, did I get hit by a train?"

He tries to smile, but he can't. Not now. Not about that. "No. There were no trains involved this time."

She must've seen something in his expression because her confusion is quickly replaced by a frown. "I messed something up did I? I can't remember completing the hack."

"The mission has been completed. The list has been secured." He admires her attempts to hide her pain from him, wincing only when she thinks he wasn't looking. She doesn't want to appear weak in front of him. In front of anyone, really.

"Did everyone get out okay?"

His anger flares. "You're here. Again. What do you think?"

"You know I'd defend my actions," she says, chuckling, "if only I could remember what I did, exactly."

"I told you not to engage." He admonishes. "Why can't you listen to me even just this once?"

She cringes. "Sorry?"

"Not everything can be fixed by a simple apology, Skye." He snaps. "You are not trained for combat. What were you thinking, following an armed man like that?"

"He is a bad man, I should follow him to see what he's up to?" She supplied with a soft chuckle. "You do know that I'm just guesssing my answers here, right? I really don't remember a thing."

Instead of tuning the tension down, her jibe only causes his brewing anger to escalate. "Was being shot twice not enough for you?" He snaps.

"Geez, A.C. Chill." She says, slightly startled by his outburst. "I'm fine."

"Ward had to carry you back here!" He yells. "You almost gave Simmons a heart attack."

It takes exactly half a minute before the image sinks in. She exhales. "But I'm okay now."

"You didn't see her, Skye. You worried the hell out of her."

A soft whine escapes from the back of her throat. "Coulson, come on-"

"Did you even consider what would she feel if anything bad happens to you?" He asks cuttingly. "How much it would destroy her if you get hurt?"

Her smile fades. She shoots him a look. "Is this really about Jemma?"

No. "Yes!"

"A.C., I'm here." Skye sits up. Her progress is too slow for his liking. Both of her eyes swayed for a split second before she is able to shake them right back on track. He mightily fights the urge to jump to her side and help. "A little banged up, a hell a lot more embarassed by being taken out by a someone I couldn't even remember, but I'm fine. Nothing bad is going to happen to me."

"You can't say that."

"No." Skye says. "But when I signed up for this job, I knew the risks that came with it."

"You didn't sign up for this job." Coulson counters. "I offered it to you. Everytime you get hurt, it is on me."

"With all due respect sir, you can't be responsible for each of your team member's decisions." She tells him. "And you sure as hell cannot blame yourself for every bullet that pierces through them."

He winces.

"I want to do this Coulson. This is the only real home I've had in a while. I want to earn my keep."

"I don't want you to pay for it with your life."

She smiles. "Well, that's good because I don't want to do that either."

He frowns. He doesn't look like he's buying it.

"Geez, A.C., cheer up a little. Yes, I admit, I may have taken too many almost trips to foreverland in the recent past, but that's all over now. I'm here." She tilts her head slightly as he gauges his features. It hasn't improved at all. If anything, the frown lines on his face just got deeper. "I'm-"

"You're alive, I know. It's just that-" He breaks off, rubbing his eyes. He has no idea where his exhaustion has come from, but he feels every bit of it, grinding his bones, squeezing him from the inside. "Give me time to figure this out, okay?"

She nods. "Of course."

"Is it okay if I sit here for a while?"

A childlike smile graces her face. She wonders if this is what it's like to have a dad.

* * *

Skye isn't sure how long she's been out, but when she wakes again, she feels remarkably better.

She just had the weirdest dream, or at least she thinks she just had the weirdest dream. She could not, however, remember anything about it aside from the fact that it felt really weird. Perhaps she could still blame the head injury for that?

Her stomach suddenly grumbles.

Drat. She hasn't eaten for hours.

And by the way, where did Coulson go?

Then, as if she just rubbed a magic lamp, her genie... er, her boss arrives-appearing outside her door with a bowl and spoon in hand. He tilts his head and grins at her.

"I knew you'd be hungry."

"That's a bowl." She notes, pointing out the obvious with some beginnings of a frown. She does not seem to like the direction where things are going.

"It is." He says, glancing at the object in question with such irreproducible expression which she could only descirbe as very 'Coulson-like'. "What of it?"

A terrifying memory of not so long ago rushes back to her mind. "Oh boy."

They're back on it again. It took her weeks... weeks! to make her boss stop feeding her like a child, and now… and goddamn fucking now, he's back to doing it again.

"You need to regain strength."

She gives him his sixth eyeroll of the day. She's been doing it a lot, her eye muscles are actually starting to cramp. "You know that I can totally feed myself on my own right? My hands are fine."

The damn bastard still has the gall to grin at her. "Oh, I've noticed."

"Good." A nervous chuckle suddenly escapes her. He is using that tone again. And it's not a very good sign. It's not a very good sign at all. She half-squeaks. "Good."

Good God.

"I wish you'd stop pouting."

Oh, dream on, you Mr. Sadistic, you. "I wasn't mortally injured this time." She attempts to remind him, stubbornly maintaining her expression. "Just hand it over, I'll eat it, I promise."

"The last time I did that, you blackmailed Ward into finishing your food."

She had to admit, it was kind of fun watching Ward trying so hard not to vomit. Not that she would say it out loud. "In my defence, the food you handed me back then has some weird color scheme." That soup looked like the child of a threesome between a squash, an eggplant, and a beet. It smelled nice, sure, but it really looked disgusting.

"Well, I assure you, this one is monochromatic." He sits on her beside and pulls half a spoonful off the bowl. "Though I hope you like spinach."

Spinach? Her eyes make contact the contents of the offered spoon.

"Um, what the hell is that?" If Skye has any doubts of him punishing her before, she surely isn't having any doubts about that now. The greenish hue of whatever it is reminds her of a molten blob of radioactive material.

"Your dinner." He replies with a shrug.

Her face blanched in horror. No, dinner is something that people eat. Not something that looks suspcious enough to be a biological hazard. With her luck, it would probably melt whatever remnants of a gut she still has in her the moment it enters her system. "Um..."

He smiles sweetly as he pushes the spoon closer to her tightly closed mouth. "Open up."

She recoils, still horrified at the prospect of eating the piping hot green goo he's offering.

"Say ahhh," he instructs her. The man clearly enjoys every moment of her gastronomic suffering.

Shit.

"Don't make me mimic airplane noises for you, Skye."

Skye's mouth remained firmly shut as she fervently shakes her head. She gulps. There's no way she'd comment on that offly disturbing statement because she knows that the moment she opens her mouth, he's going to shove the damn spoon into it.

Well, that and whatever on god's green earth he's placed on it. He's done it before. She's learned her lesson. And by god, she's learned it well. She could still remember that day as if it was just yesterday.

And oh, it was horrible.


	8. Phil (Part 2)

**I know, I know... gone for almost a year with no updates. I'm sorry. Life happened. I'm back now though. For good, I hope. Haha. I just couldn't bear leaving a fic unfinished (i'm also trying to complete my other stories, so please bear with me)**

 **I'll end this at chapter 11 or 12. I'm still deciding where to cut 'em. I'll update again in a day or two.**

 **Disclaimer: AOS is not mine. The typos and errors in this story are.**

* * *

 _ **Previously...**_

 _Skye isn't sure how long she's been out, but when she wakes again, she feels remarkably better._

 _She just had the weirdest dream, or at least she thinks she just had the weirdest dream. She could not, however, remember anything about it aside from the fact that it felt really weird. Perhaps she could still blame the head injury for that?_

 _Her stomach suddenly grumbles._

 _Drat. She hasn't eaten for hours._

 _And by the way, where did Coulson go?_

 _Then, as if she just rubbed a magic lamp, her genie... er, her boss arrives-appearing outside her door with a bowl and spoon in hand. He tilts his head and grins at her._

" _I knew you'd be hungry."_

" _That's a bowl." She notes, pointing out the obvious with some beginnings of a frown. She does not seem to like the direction where things are going._

" _It is." He says, glancing at the object in question with such irreproducible expression which she could only descirbe as very 'Coulson-like'. "What of it?"_

 _A terrifying memory of not so long ago rushes back to her mind. "Oh boy."_

 _They're back on it again. It took her weeks... weeks! to make her boss stop feeding her like a child, and now… and goddamn fucking now, he's back to doing it again._

" _You need to regain strength."_

 _She gives him his sixth eyeroll of the day. She's been doing it a lot, her eye muscles are actually starting to cramp. "You know that I can totally feed myself on my own right? My hands are fine."_

 _The damn bastard still has the gall to grin at her. "Oh, I've noticed."_

" _Good." A nervous chuckle suddenly escapes her. He is using that tone again. And it's not a very good sign. It's not a very good sign at all. She half-squeaks. "Good."_

 _Good God._

" _I wish you'd stop pouting."_

 _Oh, dream on, you Mr. Sadistic, you. "I wasn't mortally injured this time." She attempts to remind him, stubbornly maintaining her expression. "Just hand it over, I'll eat it, I promise."_

" _The last time I did that, you blackmailed Ward into finishing your food."_

 _She had to admit, it was kind of fun watching Ward trying so hard not to vomit. Not that she would say it out loud. "In my defence, the food you handed me back then has some weird color scheme." That soup looked like the child of a threesome between a squash, an eggplant, and a beet. It smelled nice, sure, but it really looked disgusting._

" _Well, I assure you, this one is monochromatic." He sits on her beside and pulls half a spoonful off the bowl. "Though I hope you like spinach."_

 _Spinach? Her eyes make contact the contents of the offered spoon._

" _Um, what the hell is that?" If Skye has any doubts of him punishing her before, she surely isn't having any doubts about that now. The greenish hue of whatever it is reminds her of a molten blob of radioactive material._

" _Your dinner." He replies with a shrug._

 _Her face blanched in horror. No, dinner is something that people eat. Not something that looks suspcious enough to be a biological hazard. With her luck, it would probably melt whatever remnants of a gut she still has in her the moment it enters her system. "Um..."_

 _He smiles sweetly as he pushes the spoon closer to her tightly closed mouth. "Open up."_

 _She recoils, still horrified at the prospect of eating the piping hot green goo he's offering._

" _Say ahhh," he instructs her. The man clearly enjoys every moment of her gastronomic suffering._

 _Shit._

" _Don't make me mimic airplane noises for you, Skye."_

 _Skye's mouth remained firmly shut as she fervently shakes her head. She gulps. There's no way she'd comment on that offly disturbing statement because she knows that the moment she opens her mouth, he's going to shove the damn spoon into it._

 _Well, that and whatever on god's green earth he's placed on it. He's done it before. She's learned her lesson. And by god, she's learned it well. She could still remember that day as if it was just yesterday._

 _And oh, it was horrible._

* * *

 **A couple of weeks ago…**

 _ **(three weeks after she was shot)**_

 _Open mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat._

 _Open mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat._

For the last couple of days, these words have been playing in a constant loop in Skye's head like some messed up mantra in an elaborately pathetic cult sacrifice. But god, without those words to guide her through, she probably wouldn't have survived this long with her own sanity intact.

How did she end up like this, you may ask?

That's really the big question isn't it?

Why indeed?

 _Why?_

* * *

 **A couple MORE weeks before that…**

 _ **(shortly after she was shot)**_

It's Skye's first day on soft diet. Soft diet, meaning goo of all tastes, colors, and textures. Jemma already briefed her about it: it's basically a variety of pureed healthy stuff that, on a normal day, Skye would never-ever-pick up on a grocery store (or any store, really) unless there's a huge grenade launcher aimed directly at her head.

Oddly though, despite the disheartening menu her biochemist friend had enthusiastically prepared for her, she still feels quite excited about the entire prospect of eating. Because, duh, it's food. Sure, it's soft food, but still. Food is food. It's an improvement. A small one, but an improvement nonetheless.

It is perhaps true; one wouldn't appreciate something until he or she has been deprived of it for so long.

And geez, deprived she has been. She has been without food for so long, she can't help but fear that she might have already forgotten how it is to chew.

Well, okay, maybe not. Whatever. She just hated the clear liquids phase that she just came out from. In those few short days of clear liquid agony, she perhaps had sampled broths of absolutely anything that can be boiled in the history of mankind: beef, fish, chicken, ham, prawn, lamb, veal, onions (yuck)-you name it, Fitzsimmons have broth-ed it.

Ugh. Tasting food but not actually eating it-it was her newest definition of torture.

And it almost killed her.

Although in hindsight, that shouldn't make her think that those days are actually the worst days of her earthly existence because, first of all, a clear liquid diet is way, way better than no diet at all. Hell, the mere thought that she was able to endure that stupid no food phase for days is incredibly daunting to think about. Especially since it involves her, the only person in the team who treats every meal as if it is the Second Coming. She, who, given the right motivation, will readily bow down and sing praises to a tub of Ben & Jerry's and a packet of Double stuf oreos while running around the plane as naked as the day she was born (don't ask).

And most importantly, who would've thought that she, Skye-with-no-last-name, could survive weeks of absolutely no bagel-shoving in her mouth without feeling the slightest bit of hunger in her gut?! Holy cow, did the world just end or what?

It was also during those god-awful weeks when it became Jemma's hobby to explain to her the pathophysiology (whatever that means) of total parenteral nutrition-or at least, that what she remembers her call it. She isn't really sure. She usually zones her words out after the first couple of sentences during those kinds of talks. All she knew was her food was that huge bag of white fluid hanging above her bed, and it was running directly to her veins. That's it.

Skye fondly called it her blood milk.

Not once did Jemma ever yielded to her pleas though. Heartless woman, that Jemma Simmons. Very heartless indeed. Not once did she falter. Not once.

If she ever thought that there isn't a single cruel bone in her friend's body, her recent experience is definitely forcing her to reconsider.

Okay. That may be a bit of an exaggeration. Jemma is quite a nice lady. She just has her moments.

And perhaps the occasional psychotic tendencies. Depends on her mood, really. But that's a topic for another day.

The first few times she's been denied, Skye merely soldiered on and nodded. Jemma always said no to her with a sweet smile on her face so it's actually quite hard for her to whine against that. If it was a British thing or something, Skye couldn't tell. But the former hacker promised Coulson that she'd try to follow rules, so she didn't protest further.

After a few days, Skye's nods slowly turned to little shrugs. Jemma was still responding sweetly, albeit a little frustrated, judging by the occasional tight furrowing of her eyebrows (Skye could tell; she's good when it comes to sensing things like that).

After a few weeks, however, the food deprived former hacktivist couldn't take the injustice any longer.

It's is just too unfair!

"Skye, I most definitely have not placed you in an involuntary hunger strike!" She remembers Jemma insisting. She did look genuinely appalled by the insinuation though.

"Then why aren't you people feeding me?" Skye complained. She's never claimed to be the poster girl for keeping things bottled up inside anyway. Coulson once did point out that she tends to keep her heart on her sleeve. It is not really out of character for her to tell it like how it is. "You are depriving me of my basic rights!"

The expression on Jemma's face then was split between laughter and exasperation. It was an odd combination, Skye noted. "We've been through this, Skye, and my answer is still no-your persistent pleas and endless grovelling notwithstanding."

"Jemmaaaaaa-"

"You still can't eat." Jemma says. "You don't need to. Not just yet."

"But whyyyy?"

In the bus, they have this one implicit rule all the members of the team should always keep in their minds: if you value your sanity at all, never-as in never, ever- ask Jemma Simmons any questions which may, directly or indirectly, pertain to any of your own internal organs. And stupid Skye, too damn frustrated to think straight, forgets about it for a split second, only realizing it a little too late.

"The surgeons in Switzerland had to resect a few inches of your small and large intestines, Skye." The scientist explained perkily. She was clearly excited by the opening she was given-a chance to go do sciencing with her again. Or maybe just sciencing in general. "Then the viable segments had to be sutured together so that they would be a continuous tube once again. Imagine it like-"

"Woah, woah. Please stop." Skye interrupts, suddenly lightheaded. She thinks she's gonna hurl. There's no way she's going to imagine whatever it is her friend is about to say.

Jemma blinks in confusion. "What's wrong now?"

What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG? She is just being reminded of how her gut had just been chopped up like some weird and twisted sashimi and she's asking her what's wrong? "I get it! I get! I can't eat. Would you please stop talking?"

"Do you prefer pictures instead?"

As much as she loves her scientist friend to death, she couldn't help but feel the occasional need to strangle her. She really doesn't need to know in great detail how minced her own gut might look like inside her after the surgery, thank you very much. "I certainly don't need any damn pictures!"

"I'm just saying..."

"No, Jemma." Skye vehemently tells her friend. "Just no."

"Alright." Jemma, at long last, let's the subject drop. She makes her way to the door, but not before she remembers something. "And oh, Fitz and I may be slightly busy for the next couple of days, you know, with studying your blood, the GH 325 that healed you, and all that. You may see less of me these coming weeks."

"Reaalllyyy?" She didn't mean to sound too excited, but she really is. Thank God Jemma didn't seem to notice.

"What happened to you, how you mysteriously recovered from your injuries is a definite scientific impossibility. It ought to be explored, studied." Jemma says. "We could potentially save millions of lives with that drug."

"Uh-huh." Skye agrees absently. In her mind, all she could hear is the sweet sound of her own freedom. There are white doves everywhere. Doves!

 _I'm free! I'm freeeee! I'm freee-ee-ee-ee!_

Simmons goes on talking. Skye, too elated to listen to anything else, hears nothing but garbled noise. It lasted for about a minute or so. And then... and then...

"Coulson will be in here any minute now to relieve me."

 _Coulson will be in here any minute now to relieve me…_

 _Coulson will be in here any minute now…_

 _Coulson will be in here…_

 _Coulson._

And just like that, Skye's perfect rainbow colored world shatters apart-it shatters into very tiny microscopic specks and pieces. Her face falls. Her mouth turns remarkbly dry. "W-what?"

"I said, Coulson will be in here as soon as I leave."

Oh no. No no no _no_.

 _What catastrophically offensive sin in the past life did she commit to deserve such cruel fate? Is Jemma really that cruel?_

"Can't May do it?" Skye quickly asks in sheer panic. Her cheeks, once sporting a healthy shade of pink, is drained of color. "I mean, she's not in any active missions, right?"

Other people may think she's crazy; wanting to pick the deadly no-nonsense specialist with three hundred seventy five types of murder eyes as babysitter over their ever understanding team leader, but she's really not.

Coulson may be understanding and all that, but of all her teammates, he is the one person any sane person wouldn't pick as a pseudo nurse. He tends to overdo these kinds of stuff.

No, no, scratch that. He doesn't just tend to overdo these kinds of stuff. Overdoing is just putting it mildly.

He smothers. _Suffocates._

"May needs to pilot the plane. We'll be encountering some really bad weather on our way to Denmark and she can't leave us flying on autopilot. Ward claims May has always been a better pilot that he is, so he'd rather sit that one out." Jemma says. "That being said, well, uh, would you rather have Ward take over instead of Agent Coulson? I know that in terms of patient care, our boss may be a little..." Jemma tries to find the word, "too caring?"

Ward? After she just tongued him in that garage? No effin way! (Well, in her defense, he is the one who did all the tonguing. She merely stood there like a complete idiot. Doing nothing.) "No." She squeaks. "Coulson's fine!"

"Oh, okay." Jemma nods, slightly weirded out by Skye's reaction as far as she could tell. "Good. Okay. Rest up. I'll call Coulson on my way to the lab."

"Can't wait." She says dryly.

* * *

 **Back to just a couple of weeks ago…**

 _ **(three weeks after she was shot)**_

So that's how she ended up in this situation in the first place.

She's heard the stories. Agent Blake told her this one time when he saved Coulson from decimated into smithereens by some well aimed RPG by acting like some heroic human shield. That ended up with him hospitalized for days with an incredibly sore back and temporary deafness in one ear. He was dizzy for days and days on end, and Coulson, still blaming himself at that point, invited himself into his home and took care of him, not taking no for an answer.

He did a lot of things for poor Agent Blake, he said-laundry, dishes, cleaning the house, grocery shopping... every chore he could think of, Coulson did for him. Hell, he even had to bear the embarrassment of having his dizzy ass forcibly carried from the bed towards the toilet at one point like some helpless damsel.

Bottomline is, according to him, Coulson, by default, is an extremely caring person. But an indebted Coulson? Damn, that is something else. Think of a bunch of nervous nellies and crank them up a gazillionfold. That's how Coulson takes care of the gravely injured people he feels responsible for. And that's the Coulson Skye's expecting to meet.

That's the Coulson she's dreading.

Suddenly, having Ward take his place feels like a not so bad idea, after all.

Is it too late now to change her mind?

Uhhhh…

But then again, it is Ward.

Sure, it's been a while since _th_ _at_ _thing_ with him happened, but for some damn reason, Skye still couldn't find it in herself to flush her S.O. out of her system. Ever since that day, she becomes more and more aware of that damn-I-could-kick-everyone's-ass-with-my-toenail-man.

She wants to hate him for that, but she can't. She cannot explain it, she just can't.

And it's really pissing her off.

Every time they are on the same room-as in every fucking time-her mind flashes back to that goddamn toe-curling out of nowhere kiss and before she realizes it, she has already bolted out like her ass is on fire. She couldn't even exchange a couple of polite words with him without blushing like an idiot or stuttering like a pathetic ninny.

What kind of a lame loser does that?

Hell, calling herself a lame loser doesn't even cut it. Perhaps the bloodloss affected her brain so much that it had turned her into a loon?

And to make matters worse, Ward-he's not helping at all. It is as if he's made it his life's mission to deliberately make her feel jumpy and uncomfortable. He's always _inadvertently_ touching her all the time, brushing against her shoulder whenever they pass each other in hallways, accidentally touching her arm whenever he helps her reach for something on the top shelf (she swears he just pops up behind her out of the blue), and maybe it's just her, but she could've sworn she saw him wink at her at least twice. Wink!

Ugh, the universe must hate her. It despises her existence. Because why else would she be this miserable? Shot twice, comatosed for a while, put on an involuntary house arrest by a mad dictator scientist, torture-trained by a pseudo-mild-mannered engineer, got a knee-buckling kiss stolen from her by the most unfeeling person to walk the planet, bludgeoned in the head by someone she couldn't even remember, and then force-fed by her very own gun-trotting nanny robot.

Geez, her life's a blast.

It must be true; something really is fundamentally wrong with her.

"Are you ready to eat now Skye?" Coulson head suddenly pops by the door one day, startling the shit out of her. It's a miracle that she's even able to hold back a scream. Really, how hard is it to knock? The door is literally just there.

"Uh, " her voice grated harshly against her vocal cords. For some reason the sight of a bowl in his hands made her mouth really, really dry. "Let me guess, another puree?"

"With a hint of cilantro." He cheekily adds. "Thought you'd be hungry."

 _Well, not hungry enough for that._ But she wouldn't dare to say that to him out loud. That would be immensely catastrophic. And ugh. Cilantro? Really? Who eats that shit? She might as well eat grass. "Would you please just hand me the spoon this time? I really can eat on my own."

"Nah." He shrugs, pulling the bowl and spoon away from her reach. "Save your strength for more important things. I got this."

"I think eating is pretty much an important thing."

"That's why I'm doing it for you. So that you could do _other_ more important things."

After enduring so many debates regarding this particular issue, she's starting to lose hope that she's ever going to win. Arguing with a worrier boss is extremely exhausting. "Fine. Whatever."

He waves the spoon in front of her. "Open up."

She pouts at first, but soon, she begrudgingly obliges.

 _Open mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat._

 _Open mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat._

Then, as always the taste registers a little bit too late. And the experience, god, is really like no other. It's eerily comparable to when she opens her eyes for the first time after she was born, breathing in some sweet, sweet first lungful air of the outside world, opening her mouth to let her voice be heard for the first time, touching her lips with her small tongue, licking… savoring the unique taste…

Only to find out that she's eating nothing but her own fucking dung.

She grimaces. "Uggghhh." She looks like she just sucked on a lemon-a rotten prehistoric lemon. Infested with maggots. "What on god's earth is that..." she trails off and tries to glance at his face. He appears as if he's challenging her to continue whatever it is she's about to say. And she, knowing better than to badmouth Coulson's cooking, luckily still had enough presence of mind to force herself to smile in approval. She could only hope that it didn't worsen her already well-performed grimace, "-amazing dish?!" Her finish was lame, but she guesses lame will always be better than rude, which was perhaps the kindest description she could think of for the reaction her mind was badly itching to impart.

Honestly, the meal-if you could still call it that-is utterly disgusting. It tastes so... vegetable-y. Hell, a year old horse piss would probably taste better. (Not that she has plans of proving that particular hypothesis anytime soon. She's lame; not stupid).

"I'm glad you liked it." Coulson says finally. Is it just her or does he really look like he's enjoying every moment of her misery?

The bastard.

Gritting her teeth, she mutters a curse under her breath, "at least one of us is."

Hearing nothing, Coulson shoves another spoonful into her mouth. "It's good, right?"

She is trying really hard not to gag, but it is a losing battle. _Good lord, who eats stuff like this?_

"One more…" He offers her some more.

She is still hoping against hope that his dish is something of an acquired taste, but after two more bites, still no such luck.

Her intestines are melting…

Coulson smiles, carefully shoveling more of his culinary punishment down her throat. "Good job, Skye."

 _Good job, Skye?_ Seriously? How old does he think she is? Three? She frowns as she braves another spoonful.

She has endured most of the bowl… might as well finish it.

Uh, on second thought-

"Last one," Coulson says, shoving the last portion of her meal to her gaping mouth and completely denying her of ample time to reconsider her pathetic life choices, "there you go…"

There are literally unshed tears on her eyes after Coulson gave her that final bite of awful goo.

 _Open mouth. Chew. Swallow-_

Oh god, she internally groans. Something deep inside of her is shifting, turning.

Her poor, poor stomach is starting to turn.

"Nicely done, Skye." Coulson praises her.

She mutters incoherently as a gagging sound finally escapes her throat. If Ian Quinn's bullets didn't kill her, this continuous loop of forced feeding her with noxious substances certainly will. She really hopes her boss could see how much she deserves a medal for this.

"What did you say?" Coulson asks softly, looking genuinely curious.

Nose flaring, she curtly responds, "I said, yeah, it's good." She wants to cry. And then scrape her tongue off. And her throat. And maybe whatever remains of her mutilated stomach. "It's good," she squeaks. A shudder escapes her.

"I still have some left back in the kitchen." He points to the door using his thumb. "I could get some more if you like."

"No!" She replies hastily, pulling his arm closer to her and far, far away from that blasted kitchen. "I mean, er, I'm full. I'm not so used to eating that much anymore. No more seconds, okay? No more."

"You sure?" He doesn't seem to believe her.

"Yes. No more seconds. It's fine-I am fine. No more seconds." She repeatedly says that to him with such abhorrence she wonders when he'll ever take the hint and stop asking her altogether. She's not hoping for any kind of luck in that aspect either.

"You are not a very good liar, has anybody told you that?" Coulson tells her teasingly.

Her eyebrows arch slightly. Is he telling her what she thinks he's telling her? Is he actually sensing her current gastronomical plight? Eyes brightening considerably, she attempts to keep it cool. She can't be too obvious. She might be hating Nanny McCoulson with all her heart and soul, but she would never, ever dream of saying anything that might offend the guy. She respects him too much. "Why? The food's really great."

 _Amazing delivery, Skye._ That's actually quite believable, she almost fooled herself.

Well, almost.

When Coulson raises an eyebrow, she counters it with a solid eyebrow raise of her own. She crosses her arms. "And for the record, Mr. SHIELD spy-dash-agent sir, I can actually be a pretty decent liar when I want to be."

Interest piqued, he gives her what she thinks is a very meaningful grin, "Oh yeah?"

"But I am! I really am!" She insists. "In fact, I've been lying to you all this time."

"Okay, I'll bite." He nods. "What is this big lie then?"

She leans closer. "Did I ever tell you…" Her voice drops into an almost whisper. "-that I actually have superpowers?"

"You do?" Coulson questions with a smirk as he puts down Skye's food. He rubs his chin, pondering. "And what kind of power would that be, if I may ask?"

Skye studies Coulson's face of a split second before sighing loudly, seemingly arriving at a decision after such hard deliberation. "I'd tell you; but then I'll have to kill you."

"Sounds ominous." He notes. "I am level 8 though. I think I can handle it."

She shrugs, "Uh, I'm sorry Coulson. This is level 9 and above only. Top secret, classified, and all that jazz."

"Oh." He plasters on a look of pseudo-disappointment. "I understand. Though I don't get why you even bothered telling me that such secret existed in the first place, if you have no plans of expounding on it to begin with. You know how much I hated it when people do that."

"I was merely trying to prove a point." She petulantly claims.

"The point is not proven unless ample evidence is provided." He shrugs. "That's all I can say."

She bites her lip, thinking hard. Exhales. "Fine." She beckons him even closer so she could whisper to his ears, "My powers are so awesome, Nick Fury himself asked me if I wanted to become an Avenger."

The wrinkle on the sides of Coulson's eyes deepens in mirth, but he still manages to keep a straight face. "Oh reeeally?"

"I said no, of course."

"Funny, I was sure I knew one of the guys who kind of assembled that team." Coulson tells her, "if I could only just remember his name… I heard he's quite a looker…"

"Well, I can't blame you Coulson; it is, after all-" Skye stumbles with her words then, unable to contain her giggles. Fortunately, her meds are pretty much doing their job for once. She doesn't feel that much pain as before whenever she laughs. "God, what are you, Coulson? King of straight faces? You can definitely earn a lot of money doing that."

Never letting her comment deter him, he maintains his serious look. "I have always been well trained."

With that, Skye's expression quickly falls… and it's too late before Coulson realizes the nerve he just hit.

"Skye…"

 _Well trained._ Skye knows that she's a lot of things, but she's certainly not that. Creative, maybe. Resourceful, sure. But trained? Hell, even the science twins know more self defense moves than she does and they practically lived inside a lab.

At least Fitz and Simmons know what parts of a person to hit to elicit the best pain response.

She, on the other hand, can't even evade a handgun. Pathetic.

"It's my fault again, isn't it?"

* * *

 _It's my fault again, isn't it?_

 _It's my fault again, isn't it?_

Coulson sits on his favorite chair, silently recalling the conversation he had with Skye days before he was coerced to let her participate in her first post-shooting mission. This exchange has been nagging at the back of his mind ever since it had occurred, but something, somehow, managed to shove it away for a while. Perhaps it's the stresses of the always trying to control the ever growing list of index candidates vying for world domination, or perhaps his slowly worsening case of androgenic alopecia, but the fact of the matter is, he'd almost completely forgotten about it.

Unfortunately, the most recent Skye-related incident pushed everything to the forefront of his brain once again. May it be because of worry, guilt, or a bunch of other jumbled emotions wreaking havoc inside his heart, it doesn't matter. What matters is, now he finally remembers why he came up with this life-changing decision in the first place-why he once thought that making this choice would be the best for all persons involved.

He rubs a tired hand across his face. He should've done this a long time ago. They wouldn't be in this mess if he did. They could've avoided her being hurt again.

The conversation he had with Skye plays again inside his head, taunting him.

" _It's my fault again, isn't it?" Skye quietly asks._

 _Coulson's hoping they'll never go here, down to that very road of self-blame and regrets, but one cannot always get what he wants, can he? "No, it's nobody's fault, you hear me?"_

 _A pregnant pause fills the room. And then-_

" _Do you ever regret bringing me here? To SHIELD?"_

 _He looks away. He knows his words will hurt her, and yet they needed to be said. This is his mistake. His fault. One way or another, he has to own up to it. "Everyday."_

 _His response is curt, devoid of feeling. But he knows it stings. He watches her as she swallows hard. "I don't," she mutters._

" _Why?" He asks. For the first time, he lets some smidgen of his true emotions betray his eyes. It only lasted for a second before it's gone. Skye probably didn't even notice it. He glares at her. "You came to me looking for your family, for answers to questions you don't even know how to ask…for the piece of your life you have lost, and what good did that do to you, huh? What outcome did you achieve, Skye? You're nowhere near from finding answers you're looking for and yet you-you almost-"_

" _Died?" She offers softly._

 _His breath hitches, but he doesn't say anything. Even after all this time, he still couldn't bring himself to think about it._

 _She squeezes his arm and smiles. "I haven't really thanked you for… for saving my life."_

 _It takes too much effort for him to regain control of his breathing. Just the thought of her, bleeding, almost lifeless in that dark cellar is enough to rattle his core. She's just a kid. God, she's just a kid. "I didn't do it alone."_

" _Doesn't make me any less thankful." She says. "I still wouldn't be here without you."_

 _Oh._

 _Her words hit home. And it hits him right exactly where it hurts._

 _He can't stare at her eyes any longer. He is too afraid of what he'd soon see in those constantly expressive depths once she finally realizes that the root of all his misery is nothing but his damn awful choices as a leader. He wouldn't be able to bear it if he sees even a touch of anger in there. God knows she has every right to blame him. To loathe him. What happened to her is his fault. He should've assessed the situation better. She wouldn't be bleeding in the head if he did. Hell, she would never have to bleed at all if he did._

 _She's right; she wouldn't be here without him. She wouldn't have been so close to death if not for him._

 _No, it is not her fault at all. It is his._

 _Only his._

 _And just like that, he finally makes his decision. He should've done this a long time ago, it's just that he didn't have enough courage to do so before. "Believe me Skye, I know."_

* * *

 **The next couple of chapters are more team-oriented, so expect all of the original six to appear again. There is also this long overdue conversation with Coulson.** **Thoughts?**


	9. Team (Part 1)

**Present Time**

It's one of those slow days. Rain is pouring just outside the windows, making such soothing noises that would send any weak-willed being within hearing distance into immediate slumber. Wind is blowing harshly against the glass, dueling against its thick sodium silicate layer. A lost cause, no doubt, for that thing could probably withstand a dozen nuclear attacks fired in rapid succession.

Coulson finds himself in sitting quietly in his office, peacefully sifting through his assigned paperwork for the week, with only the soft scratching noises of his pen for company.

To those who know him, the fact that he barely notices the horrendous weather outside is an incredibly worrisome sign. He always notices. Clearly, something is on his mind. He is not himself. He has been like this for days.

His door suddenly bursts open.

"Please tell me you are not doing what I think you're doing." Melinda May barges in, obviously fuming and wanting to kick the shit out of something. "Are you out of your mind?"

Coulson sighs. Judging her tone, the conversation they're about to have is going to be quite explosive. Pursing his lip, he puts his signature on another requisition form. What on earth do they need a dozen different types of tea for?

"What were you thinking?" May bellows, clearly unconcerned about Coulson's current beverage-induced dilemma.

Still trying to take control of the situation as always, the terribly exhausted SHIELD agent remains unperturbly seated on his chair, trying to delay the confrontation as much as he could.

"What? Nothing to say to defend your complete and utter bullshit?"

Okay, so they're really doing this. He thought she'd be on his side on this particular matter. He thought that she, of all people could understand him and where he's coming from. Guess he's wrong.

He's been wrong about a lot of things recently.

"I am talking to you Phil, goddamn it!"

He doesn't even bother to look up from his paperwork as he flatly responds, "My decision is final, Agent May."

Unimpressed, and not to mention, getting exponentially pissed, the female agent slams both of her hands against his desk. It's a miracle the said furniture was able to withstand the blow. A lot of other things wouldn't. "Your decision is stupid."

At that, he finally musters up the strength to look up and shoot his friend an irritated glare. His morning coffee, once elegantly filling his precious Captain America collectors' edition mug, is now not so hideously splattered on most of his recently filled out forms. "Excuse me?"

"Don't make me repeat myself." She warns, her voice low-bloodcurdlingly so.

"Your protest is noted, but there's nothing more you or I could do. It's done." If her anger isn't directed at his general direction, he'd probably find her quite fascinating to watch. He likes to watch her.

"Damn it, Phil!" She curses harshly. "Are you even hearing yourself right now? This is Skye we're talking about!"

"I don't see the relevance, nor the need for this argument, Agent May." He tells her flatly. "If this were a few months ago you would be more than happy to keep her off this team."

For a split second he considers what he must do should she decide to go nuts and flip the desk right over his head. It's probably wise for him to start inching away from striking distance, because god, by the looks of it she's really, really close to punching his teeth in.

Thankfully though, it appears that she has more restraint lingering somewhere inside her body than he gives her credit for. Instead of going straight to physical forms of punishment, all his indifference gets him is a scowl and an awful lot of jaw clenching. "But it isn't." She says quietly.

A beat of silence fills the room. The tension is so palpable that every heavy breath he makes roars loudly inside both of their ears. "I forced both you and Agent Ward to accept her on this team, despite your protests. Recent events made me see that I indeed had made the wrong decision, and this is me righting that mistake. I don't see why you are so against it this time." He knows that he's not fooling anybody with his outward display of utter nonchalance. But he has to try.

"That's bull, and you know it," she mutters.

"Oh, I know it." He admits. Sometimes it really sucks to have someone in your life who knows you too well. "I'm not denying the fact that the main reason I'm doing this is because I'm scared that the next time she gets hurt, it wouldn't be an _almost_. I'm not denying that I'm not thinking rationally right now. But tell me May, if I don't do this, if I let her stay on this team, can you guarantee her safety? Can you tell me with a hundred percent certainty that she'll reach the age of thirty-of thirty five-without being hurt? She has skills that this team needs, yes, but it doesn't change the fact that she's not trained. She's vulnerable out there."

"Ward is taking care of her training." She defends. "Hell, I'll even take over if you want to. I could teach her. She could learn how defend herself, but you have to give her a fighting chance."

"And what, make her be like _you_?"

May's expression suddenly turns dead cold.

He leans back on his seat, shoulders slumping dejectedly. It's a low blow, and it is certainly undeserved. But she's not giving him any other choices at the moment. This is the only way he could make her see his reasoning behind all these. "Do you think I'm doing this for me?"

What he's about to do to Skye is harsh, he's aware of that. Using the _freeze protocol_ on her-the one process that is only done on very select people who got tangled with SHIELD when they're not supposed to-is not something he just decided on a whim. But he has to do this for her own good. To keep her safe. He is giving her a chance to go back to her former life, and although he knows that what she's returning to is not as ideal as he wanted it to be, a life is still a life. Being a SHIELD agent is not a life. It's a risk. And it is not a risk he wants her to take. He doesn't want her to end up like him. Like them. An agent with no happy future that awaits them-with no family. Skye's still young. She may not have parents or siblings to go back to, but she still has her chance to find people, to make a life for herself, to make her own home. He's not going to ruin that chance. It's not too late for her.

"She will never forgive you for this."

"The freeze protocol would only make her mind foggy about the last couple of months in her life, max. It's not as if she has that much to lose." He still remembers the time when this protocol was first brought to his attention almost a decade and a half ago. Someone from SHIELD's Science and Tech branch apparently had so much time in his hands that he was able to uncover some of the secrets that surround the human mind, specifically, how it stores medium term memories.

Well, it's either that or the man has just been too fascinated with cartoons that he made his own _Men in Black_ flashlight thingamobs that the infamous Agent K often uses on unsuspecting civilians who've seen too much. (He's leaning more on the former, of course.)

There's no flashing lights in this protocol though. What they use is some type of vapor that makes their target pass out then just simply wake up after twelve hours with no recollection of where they have been or what they've been up to for the past three to five months.

The longest ever recorded wipe erased approximately five and a half months, and that was only because the subject had been exposed to the compound for a prolonged period of time.

"Foggy?" She scoffs as her glare intensifies. "What the hell, Phil? We barely use this on our enemies… and now you want to use it on our own people?!"

"You said it yourself, she is a risk. We can't let her run around LA knowing all our secrets and protocols. This step is necessary." The freeze protocol is an admittedly extreme measure, but in the long run, it'll be beneficial for all parties involved. SHIELD's secrets will be protected; she wouldn't put herself in harm's way, chasing after them after they let her go. And how can she, if she doesn't even remember the need to chase them in the first place?

This is the right thing to do; he's doing her a favor.

"Okay, let's say we go ahead and fuck up her mind." May gestures wildly, each word laced with venom. Her eyes sparks with sheer fury. From the looks of it, she's a mere fingerbreadth away from wringing Coulson's neck. "She will still be looking for her family. Before we know it, she'll be on our asses all over again. You know the girl; nothing can stop her once she puts her mind to it."

"Then we'll be more careful next time."

"Next time? Next time? God, how can you be this pigheaded? What if this thing ends up failing, huh?" May questions. "What if this destroys her? We can't just tinker on someone's brain! It's dangerous. It's not right!"

Coulson looks away. If only someone took the time defend his case and tell Nick Fury that. His brief stint in Tahiti is still a sore spot for him. "Of course it's not." He says, his hands clenching on his desk and crumpling what remains of his ruined paperwork. "But I trust Dr. Harrison. His formula has been used for years. It has never failed."

"That lunatic developed that chemical so he could use it on himself!"

Coulson is not too familiar with Dr. Harrison's backstory. All he had were rumors about the guy, and even up to now, nobody knows the real reason why he became so desperate to leave SHIELD, he was willing to chemically manipulate his own brain just to get the job done. He wonders how much May knows about him. "I heard he just had his first child two months ago. Where is he living now again? The last I've heard, he's about to renew his vows with his wife somewhere in Belgium."

But his comment didn't even faze May. Her resolve remains firm. "I won't let you do this to her." She says, raising her shoulders in defiance.

"May…"

"You are letting your cowardice win over your common sense, goddamn it! I'm not going to let Skye suffer because of you. You are not ruining her life! Not on my watch!"

"Ruin her life?" He scoffs. His mind flashes to that incident in Italy once more. He did the ruining part already. Hadn't she noticed? "At least she'll _still_ have a life."

"No." She growls. "You have to go through me first."

Coulson knows that she's more than willing to fight him if she has to. There's no way she's letting him get to her, especially now that she's already convinced herself he's making a mistake.

Even before she rushed in, Coulson had a feeling that the female agent won't go with his plans. He'd seen her with Skye. She cares about the girl way more than she's willing to admit. "I'm afraid you'd say that…"

A flicker of movement on the desk catches May's attention, but it's too late before she realizes what it was. She was too angry, and he knows it is the only reason why she missed it. It's why he tried extra hard to piss her off in the first place: so she wouldn't notice the ICER-shaped lump hidden under his files.

BANG

A flash of blue light darts out of Coulson's desk, landing straight to her left shoulder.

She's down on the ground before she could even blink.

* * *

It takes roughly three hours before May finds herself harshly pulled back to the land of the living. With blood pounding harshly against her skull, she groans, forcing her eyes to blearily scan her surroundings. She blinks once, twice, but nothing registers in her brain aside from some muffled noise somewhere on her right. Despite the strong pull sleep is forcing on her, she manages to hold on to whatever vestiges of lucidity fighting inside her. It's not so hard of a task, honestly. Especially when someone is jerking her awake and speeding up the process.

"Wake up, May" a voice says, shaking her back to consciousness a little too harshly, "come on!"

She groans again. As it appears, she is yet to do anything but that. It's frankly unbecoming. And hell, why is her shoulder stinging?

"Finally!"

At that, Simmons' face finally comes into view. She looks thoroughly distressed. It's only then when May remembers. "Skye," She exclaims, eyes wide, panic-stricken, "Where is she?" The older agent pulls herself off the floor, ready to refuse any help. Simmons knows better than to offer her any.

"She and Coulson went to meet with Agent Weaver. They brought Lola with them." The scientist replies carefully, wheels obviously turning towards the side of dread. "Why? What's going on? Who ICED you? Are we under attack?"

How she got placed inside the containment room is beyond her. She would most likely be still out if not for the scientist rousing her awake. "How long?" May demands, trying and failing to calm herself amidst all the chaos unfolding. She rushes out towards the door. If that thing wasn't reenforced with vibranium alloy, the sheer force of her yanking it open would probably pull it off its hinges.

"It's 2:45 am now. Ward landed the plane two hours ago. We're just ten miles outside the academy. Agent Coulson ordered him to do an errand for Agent Blake so he's gone too. Only Fitz and I are here."

"We need to go to the academy." May declares, urgency thick in her voice. She crosses the dark hallways with such rage that could easily scare off a mountain lion. "Right now."

"Slow down, Agent May." Simmons begs as they arrive in the garage, with her barely matching her speed. "What is happening?"

"Damn it, Coulson!"

Simmons flinches, not used to hearing such emotionally-charged coarse language coming from the older agent. She seems to be pissed off of the fact that they have no available cars to use, and the scientist has absolutely no clue why.

May runs straight to the cockpit without checking if Simmons is still on her tail. "I'll fly us there. Tell Agent Fitz We don't have much time. We'll jump off if we have to." The SHIELD agent has barely sat on the pilot's seat when she initiates the take off sequence.

"Agent Melinda May, stop what you're doing right now or so help me god, I'll kick your super special agent arse-"

May hands momentarily freezes atop the controls as she turns her attention to then beet-red Simmons. So, the girl's got some balls, after all. She lets out an exasperated sigh. "Coulson is going to use the freeze protocol on Skye. He ICED me so I won't stop him."

"What do you mean fre-what?" A look of utter terror dawns on her face. Color drains out of her face. "Oh bloody hell."

"Yes, bloody hell alright. So let me fly this plane and get Fitz." May orders hastily. "Tell him to take out item MP-71B from storage and bring it to me. Now!"

* * *

The basement laboratories of Science and Technology center of the Academy remains exactly the same as when Coulson first set foot on it years ago. It is a wide room with long rows of lab tables and high chairs, microscopes, mass spectrometers, large silver chemical tanks, and all other things that could send any scientist into a spontaneous nerdgasm. But this is not the room that he needs. Where they need to be is still a floor lower, away from prying eyes. Level 5 and above access only. They are merely passing by. He may curse whoever designed this building to no end but it still won't change the fact that there's no other way to basement 3 but through these creepy labs. And since no one but the level fives know about that place, making it accessible to the main elevators is not really an option.

"How far are we going to walk?" Skye complains, yawning, but still trailing closely behind Coulson. "And where is everyone?"

"SHIELD may be a spy agency, Skye, but some of our branches still adhere to the regular office hours." Coulson responds. "It's three am. Only Agent Weaver is here."

"Hmmm, you know, I used to wonder why Fitzsimmons were so inherently nocturnal. Guess they got it from their original boss woman."

Coulson opens the door. They both enter the room. It's pitch dark inside.

"We're here." Coulson tells her, his voice strained.

He clicks a switch.

A series of lights flickers open one by one, momentarily blinding Skye. "Hey, what the hell!," she calls out as she uses her forearm to cover her eyes. She can't see anything around her aside from her own feet. As she squints, she finally notices that she's standing on some blue dot. A marker of some sort. Then, something whirs around her. There's a couple of popping sounds bursting above her head. All of a sudden, she's surrounded by a cylindrical glass wall. She bangs her fists against it, but it makes no difference. Nothing short of Thor's hammer would make the thing budge. "Coulson!" She desperately yells, eyes wide in fear.

The light dims slightly. Coulson's standing right in front of her. His face is completely expressionless. She's beginning to panic. "Coulson, what is this?"

"I'm sorry, Skye." Coulson mutters, the tension in his jaw the only thing that betrays the impassiveness of his features. "I wouldn't choose this life for you. I know you wouldn't choose it either."

"What?" Another popping sound erupts above Skye's head. Soon, a whitish smoke begins to slowly crawl the chamber. Her eyes widen further as she looks up. A third of her glass encasement is already filled. "This-" She stammers, "Is this…"

"I promise, I will still help you find your parents." Coulson assures her. By then, he's already averting his eyes from the sight in front of him. He can't stand looking at this any longer.

"I never-" Skye heaves, suddenly breathless. The smoke is filling her lungs. It's making her woozy. "I never thought you'd actually-"

"I don't want you to end up like me."

She lurches forward. Her world is spinning madly around her. She tries to hold on to the glass walls, but it's nothing doing much for her. She is losing the feeling on her legs. She just wants to sleep. Her eyes are becoming too heavy. Her ears are ringing so loud. She just wants it to end.

And then she falls.

* * *

Simmons immediately finds Fitz in his room, sitting on his bed. He is hugging a pillow. Odd, for a split second Simmons thought that he is brooding. But that is utterly impossible. Fitz is not the type of person who broods. He is not inherently broody. She doesn't have the luxury of time to ponder much about it though. She has other more urgent things to do. "Fitz!" She calls out, bent over forwards with hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath.

He doesn't even look like he's heard her.

Frantic, she jumps right in front of him. She badly needs his full and undivided attention. "Fitz!" She pants, "Item MP-71B. Get it. I need-I need your access code. Open the storage. May needs it now. Right now. It's an emergency!"

Fitz barely moves a muscle, but he seems to sink deeper on his bed. "Oh, so she's really doing it, huh?" He sounded drained. Defeated. Like the world weighing heavily on his shoulders. "Didn't realize it'd be this soon. It's crazy, don't you think?"

 _She? What on earth is he talking about? If there's anyone who's doing anything rash and crazy, it's Agent Coulson._ "Fitz, get up!" Simmons is almost dragging Fitz out of his bed. Can't he see how urgent of a matter this is? "Skye needs us right now!"

"No she doesn't." He glumly tells her after a beat. When he looks up, she notices that his eyes are brimming with unshed tears. "She made her choice, Jemma. It isn't us."

Her mouth opens. Closes again. Somehow she can't keep up with him right now. It feels strange. They don't operate like this. "What do you mean she made her choice?"

Fitz gestures towards his desk, indicating Simmons to follow the direction of his gaze. Once she does, she spots it. A small metallic case, not larger than a shoe box. MP 71B.

Jemma is barely able to contain her gasp as the pieces are slowly coming together inside her head, "You knew?"

He hugs his pillow even tighter. Nods. "I accidentally heard Coulson talk about the freeze protocol on the phone a couple of days ago. I didn't know that he's going to use it on Skye at first, but when… but when-" He swallows, looking up at his long time friend, "He contacted Miles."

Simmons turns a shade paler at the revelation. "Miles? Skye's ex-boyfriend, Miles?"

"It's brilliant, come to think of it, I mean, who else could make sure that a mind-erased Skye won't poke around anything SHIELD related than the guy who'd rather cut his own arm off than mess SHIELD again? The bloke will even get another shot at his former girlfriend who hates him, so double win there." He spat. "Coulson's really thought this through, I'd give him that."

"Coulson wouldn't do such thing!" Simmons insists. "There's no way he'd trust that slimy git."

"You don't really have to trust a guy you can easily track, Jemma." Fitz reasons. "Miles knows better than to cross SHIELD again, and besides, slimy git or not, we can't change the fact that he still cares about her."

"But that doesn't explain-" Simmons trails off. "Wait, what did you mean when you said _she made her choice_?"

"MP-71B is the only formula in the world which could counteract the effects of the freeze protocol. But it can only act as a prophylaxis, not a cure. It won't work anymore if it's given after the protocol has already been administered." He replies. "I gave the box to her two days ago. Told her that it's up to her whether she wants to take it or not."

"I don't understand," Simmons began, "if you gave it to her, then what is it doing on your-"

"She chose, okay?" Fitz cuts her off. "She doesn't want it. I told her Coulson's plan. She was devastated at first-well, not so devastated as I was after knowing that our ever dependable leader is capable of such cruel act-but I guess based on her decision in some way she understood him."

Simmons' legs lose strength. She collapses beside him. "So she's leaving us? Just like that?"

"She's leaving this life while she still can." He corrects her. "We can't be selfish about this. She deserves this choice, Jemma. There's nothing more we could do."


	10. Team (Part 2)

**Four months later**

The Stark Industries Ecological Park sits just in the outskirts of Santa Cruz, miles and miles away from the long winding paved roads that the place is known for. It is a vast and riveting area, wild with deep greens and browns, with the occasional man made streams and lakes. The place is undeniably a paradise on earth, enticing not only to tourist and nature trippers, but also to a number of vacationing locals. Everything is perfect and beautiful… nice and calming. Anyone who'd been in this place wouldn't ever want to leave.

Leo Fitz is pondering about all these as he walks idly along the cherry bricked path on the east side of the park. He's a tourist now, at least, for the time being. Despite being certain that this won't be the last persona he's going to don during his hopefully long and peaceful SHIELD agent-hood, he still takes it upon himself to take this role seriously. He's getting out a lot more nowadays, and it is really practical for him to learn how not to stand out like a giraffe in a throng of midgets. Or something along those lines. He's quite sure those weren't the actual words Agent May used when she first brought this impromptu pseudo-mission up, but the gist is just the same.

As of the moment, he's occupied himself taking occasional touristy pictures using the huge Nikon camera slung on his neck. He even topped it off by starting to hum a tune or two of some old song he couldn't even remember the lyrics of, to be more convincing. The only advise he got from Agent May is one of her piercing glares, and honestly, it wasn't really that helpful. Jemma, on the other hand, was more sympathetic. She pointed out that he'll just be spending the day touristing around the very park that his idol has built (or at least, had paid for), so what could possibly go wrong?

At the time, he thought she had a point. The risk of him getting shot in a pseudo-mission-training-exercise at is minimal to almost nil, so he really could try to enjoy himself, right?

Fortunately, the park is breathtaking enough that it isn't too hard to maintain an expression of amazed contentment on his face. What kind of engineer wouldn't? The park has robot statutes! Robots! Any other time (and of course, barring the fact that Agent May could scream through his earwig anytime she wishes) he'd really consider this day his ideal vacation.

It's really such a shame it's all pretend.

He nods at a pair of joggers as they run past him, offering them a small smile. It's not like he could greet them a good morning, anyway. They probably wouldn't hear him over the blaring music in their earphones, which is probably twenty or thirty decibels past the recommended values. If not for a guaranteed future filled with sensorineural deafness, he would probably want to be just like them.

For a moment he wonders what would his life be, if he were on one of those jogger's shoes. Not the trying to intentionally destroy his own ears part, of course, since he's not a bloody idiot, but all the other things. He wonders how it is to just feel so carefree and at peace, oblivious to the multitudes of end-of-the-world scenarios other people are courageously fighting for them. He can't help but feel a tad envious of them, those lucky bastards. Aliens are trying to invade their world left and right, and yet here they are, spending a lazy day in the park, their most pressing concern is what to eat for lunch.

Ignorance is indeed a bliss sometimes.

As he maintains his pace, he notices a strange abstract statue right across him, about six feet in height. Come to think of it, he's actually been seeing similar ones around the park all morning.

How those red and gold metal figures manage to coherently blend with the picturesque backdrop of nature is beyond his comprehension. He then wonders if this is where the infamous Tony Stark dumps all the scrap metal from his Iron Man suits. They share the same shade of red and gold, after all. Well, kind of. Some are a bit marroon-ish.

He makes a mental note to ask Coulson about that later.

He walks across a couple more joggers before he spots a seemingly cozy spot on his right. It's a bench situated underneath a huge old tree, offering enough shade to protect anyone who sits on it from the gentle sun.

With face deep in thought, he takes a photo of it. _What a wonderful day to be alive_ , he muses.

"Soooo, you're one of those types, huh?" A voice whispers to his ear out of nowhere. It startles him enough that he came so close to dropping his camera and jumping away, screaming like a banshee that was just set on fire. He basically falls on his ass.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, did I… did I scare you?"

He knows that voice, but… that can't be right. Nah, that's just a trick of the mind, possibly brought about by his clearly overzealous startle response. It's all because of adrenaline. He has nothing to worry about. Everything's oka-

"Here, at least let me give you a hand."

That voice. There's no mistaking it. It's-

Slowly, he looks up. He sees her shoes first, a pair of ratty Chuck Taylors which had probably seen better days, her denim overalls, slightly faded but still undeniably stylish, a baby blue shirt, and then…

He almost passes out on the spot.

It is not possible.

"Hi." She grins, hand still offered right in front of his stunned face. "I'm Skye."

"Uh.." He stares at the preoffered hand as if it's a deadly snake posed to bite his arm off. She's still grinning when he looks back up at her.

"Well, this is actually the part where you tell me your name." She says with a small shrug. "Or you take my hand so I could help you up. Totally your choice."

Fitz's mind is completely blank. Wiped out. Empty. By then he's looking at her like she's an apparition of some kind.

Oh bloody hell, she probably is. Because this-whatever this is, is not possible.

 _How did she even find him here? Is she looking for them?_

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, grin not wavering even a bit. When he gives no indication of understanding what he's supposed to do with her preoffered hand, she makes the choice for him. She grabs his arm, pulls him up, and then slides her hand towards his to give it a firm shake. "There," she says, a slight furrow appearing between her brows, "have you not done this before?" It's intended to be a joke, but he barely notices it.

He opens his mouth. Not even a single breath comes out.

She chuckles. "Hey, I just want your name. I'm not asking you to marry me."

He is still gaping at her.

Skye.

 _This is Skye._

It's taking all his strength just to fight off the urge to hug her. It's been so long since he's last seen her, let alone talked to her. _God._ He missed his friend so much. "My-my name?"

"Yeah?" She drawls. "You have one, right?"

 _My name is Leo Fitz. Leopold Fitz. We used to be friends._

 _I am still your friend._

"Ah, uh…And-Andrew."

Thank god Simmons is too much of a girl scout to let him go to his first undercover mission unprepared. She is the one who created his false identity for him, complete with work and family backgrounds. That's the only reason why he was able to come up with a name despite the circumstances.

But hell, he can't go on like this, talking to her as if they're complete strangers. He might slip and tell her something she's not supposed to know anymore and then they'll both be in various types of hell.

He needs to get out of this. Fast.

"Andrew." She repeats, playing with his name on her tongue. She purses her lip for a second, seriously mulling it over. "Weird. You don't really look like an Andrew."

He chuckles uncomfortably at that. He sure doesn't look an Andrew. It's not his real bloody name to begin with. Not that he'd tell her that. "Errr…" He's at a loss of what to do. He's not very good with impromptu interactions. Especially impromptu interactions of this variety. He's not a very good liar. Better than Jemma, clearly, but still…

"Sorry, _Andrew_ , that was rude." She tells him. "You really just don't look like it." The way his fake name rolls on her tongue is making him cringe. It's like she's mocking him for having such name. Judging by her expression, she probably knows it's not his real one.

"I'm Scottish, and Andrew is a fairly common Scottish name." He defends, trying so hard no to look indignant. What kind of an undercover SHIELD agent he'd be if he can't even pull off his own fake name to save his life?

Bloody hell, why is she making this too hard?

 _Damn you, Skye. Damn you. Damn you for choosing to forget us. Damn you for leaving us and making us all suffer for it._

"Well, you do sound Scottish at least." She finally shrugs in agreement, tilting her head towards the bench he just took the picture of. "Okay, here it is, Andrew, I know we just met and this may sound strange and everything but… do you wanna try out if it's as comfy as it looks?"

He pales. She's flirting with him. God. Can't this be more awkward? He's not even supposed to talk to her. In fact no one in their team is supposed to be seen by her at all. He can't talk to her. One wrong move and she'll be suspicious of him. He knows her. She could sense deceitfulness like a bloodhound. She will find out, he's sure of it.

She cannot find out about him, or what he does, and especially who he works for. If that happens, she'll start asking questions and she'll know. She'll bloody know. He can't let that happen. No, no. He can't just sit down and talk with her. If he becomes the trigger that would unravel the protocol on her and confuse her, it is almost certain that Coulson would kill him. He'll skin him, grill his pathetic flesh like some gruesome cult-ish barbeque, and then throw his charred remains on the bus' propeller system. _Jesus._ "Oh, I don't think that's-"

"Andrew, come on, don't think too much! Your brain might explode. I just want us to talk, not to _shag_." She has already dragged him by the arm before he even realizes what happened. She pushes him gently by the shoulders towards the bench, and then with an excited giggle, she sits ungraciously beside him. "Sooo, what brings you to Tony Stark's man made paradise?"

This is bad. Really bad. How is he supposed to extricate himself from this situation? He's here because he's doing a training exercise as per Agent May's instructions. He's merely supposed to blend in, to hide in the crowd well enough that May's undercover friends hidden in strategic areas of the park won't be able to notice him as he makes a fake intel drop. He's prepared to blend in. He's prepared to make the drop.

He's not prepared to meet former teammates who just had their memories erased and talk with them as if nothing has happened. He needs to make her back off. To stay away from him. Extricating himself from her grasp, he snaps, "Do you always accost random strangers at parks?"

"Woah, geez." She quickly raises her palms non-threateningly. "No need to go PMS-ing on me. I mean no harm."

"Why are you even doing this to me?" He asks without thinking. It's out before he could even consider punching himself on the face. What the hell?

She blinks at him, and for some reason she looks genuinely startled by the question. "Huh? What do you mean?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it. How can he explain possibly explain what he meant? It's not like he could tell her anything. "I don't know you, and here you are, barely a couple of words in and you're already acting as if we're besties or something."

It may be just because of the light, but he's sure he sees her eyes turn a tad shinier for a split second. "Oh yeah. Of course. Shit, I'm sorry," she begins, "I'm not really sure what came over me. It's just-it's just that-"

Oh no, not the tears! He can feel his own heart clenching inside his chest as she helplessly watches her. He hates seeing her so sad. She used to always have a smile ready on her face. "It's just that what?"

"I can't explain it, and this may sound like the beginning of a very lousy pick up line but-" She answers, closing her eyes and blushing profusely, "have we…uh, met before? I mean, in the past?"

Fitz's breath hitches. Does this mean- "W-wha-what… W-why?"

"I missed you. No-" She bites her lip, stuttering, and trying to find the right words to say. "No, wait. That came out wrong." She chuckles dryly. "What I mean is you, um, feel familiar. It's as if I've known you for a long time even though I just met you. And seeing you again here made me feel like I've somehow been missing you for so long."

"Feel familiar?" He slowly asks, regardless of fearing whatever answer he's going to get. Where on earth did Agent May go? He needs extraction. Right now. Can't she see how big of a trouble he is at the moment? She can't go remembering him now.

Not that she actually can though. With the protocol in place, triggering her memories is nothing but a theoretical impossibility. Best case scenario, she'd just end up confused as well. Worse case scenario-

He can't even make himself think about it without trembling.

"Like a human deja vu." She says with a small nod. Her entire body squirming in discomfort. "I even have this weird urge to hug you, if you could believe it. Not that I would act on that urge, of course. That'd be way kind of creepy."

"Hug me?" He repeats dumbly, barely able to hold his tongue and tell her outright that he shares her sentiments exactly. "W-why?"

Oh bloody hell, what is he doing?

She stares at him oddly as he shifts on his seat. He looks like he's ready to bolt any second. Then, as her eyes reach his gaping lips, a thought suddenly hits her. She gasps loudly. "Wait… uh, oh god, now this is really awkward. I'm no. No. That's-oh no. No. It's not like that; I'm not hitting on you. It's more like a brotherly hug, I think."

He splutters incoherently. That wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but the thought was still able to provide him with enough embarrassment to last a couple of lifetimes. "It is awkward." But it's an opening. He can just leave her now. "So let me save us both the embarrassment, alright? I'll go ahead now, but I guess I could still say that it's nice to meet you, Skye."

He's barely a couple of feet away when he hears her talking again. "So I-" He hears her take a hesitant step towards him. "So I really don't know you?"

He stops dead on his tracks. _Does she?_

"I had an accident four months ago. The cab I was in crashed against some barriers in the freeway. The driver didn't even make it to the ER. It was totaled, they say." She explains. "I lost three months of my life after that."

"Three months?" He repeats, hopefully sounding detached enough that she wouldn't notice the buckets of sweat pouring out of his palms. So that's what they told her. He wonders how Coulson had managed to pull that off that without making her suspicious enough to want to investigate. Thankfully, his back is still turned so she wasn't able to see the devastation marring his face.

"Oh yeah." She nods. "The last thing I remember was buying a slurpee in some random 7-11 in downtown LA, and then poof… it's all blank."

"Some memorable slurpee, I'd say." He comments while still pretending to admire the expansive park before him, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He can't look at her. He can't look at her, because if he does, she'll know he's hiding something. Everything.

She laughs. It doesn't reach her eyes. "I don't even recall drinking it."

He doesn't say a word. What the hell is he supposed to say to that, anyway?

"Just…" Her voice breaks minutely, and he almost misses it. He wished he just missed it. _Oh Skye._ "-just ignore me okay? Maybe it's another one of those days. You really can go now. Sorry for bothering you Andrew."

And by then he could not leave. How could he, when his friend is right there behind him, being messed up and miserable because of what they did?

What they all did.

Slowly, he slowly makes his way back beside her. "I am sorry."

And he is. He really is. Just for a whole different reason. And he couldn't tell her.

"Oh now I made you feel sorry for me." Skye chuckles, despite herself. "You must be thinking, how on earth did I deserve to be accosted by some weirdo in a park who definitely has some serious mental issues. The same weirdo who's now guilt-tripping me to talk to her because no one else would."

He couldn't find it in him to laugh at her joke. "You can hug me," he says slowly, "if you want."

She smiles, shaking her head. "No, I think at this point you'd rather hug a monkey than a crazytown like-oooof." She finds her words cut off by some bone-crushing hug. "Okay," she says, tentatively hugging him back, "guess we're hugging then."

His arms tightens around her, and for the first time in a very long while, Skye felt like she could breathe again.

It felt like home.

"I don't see a difference." He murmurs to her ear, still not letting her go. "Between you and a monkey, I mean."

A genuine smile tugging at her features. "How on earth could you possibly say those words and make it sound like a compliment?"

"It's because it is."

She chuckles. "You are one strange fellow, Andrew."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

It is Skye who leans away first. "Speaking of strange, is it weird that I don't find _this,"_ she gestures to the two of them, "weird?"

No. "Yes."

"Well," she exhales loudly, "now that we finally got that _strange_ air out of the way… can we re-do this entire conversation please? You know, begin talking again like normal people? You do want to talk to me now, right?"

 _Fitz, this is Skye. This was your friend. She chose to leave you, but it doesn't change anything. She was your friend. She is still your friend. Even if she doesn't know._ "Alright." He agrees. "Sounds good to me."

"Well, in that case," she offers him her hand, "I'm Skye."

He takes her hand and shakes it. "Andrew."

"Nice to meet you, Andrew."

Her grin is infectious, as always. "The pleasure is all mine, Skye."

* * *

 _I'm really humbled by your comments. I don't get a lot of 'em, but when I do, I can't stop smiling like an idiot whilst reading them. Thank you!_

 _Killer Sand Shadow: sorry it took me this long to update. I just finished a 72 hour shift last night and I was too knackered to do anything, I can't even keep my own eyes open. I just dropped dead on my bed the moment i arrived. Lol. Hopefully I could update quicker next time._

 _Sapphire2994: Yeah, I think Coulson went a little overboard too. Hahaha... and about May kicking Coulson's ass... you could still get your wish. Who knows? We still have a couple more chapters to go after all. Thank you for your kind words._


	11. Team (Part 3)

The sun is practically on top of their heads when Fitz realizes the time. He and Skye have been talking for hours about the most random things and neither has apparently noticed how much time had passed.

And that got Fitz thinking: why hasn't Agent May started looking for him? Isn't she supposed to be looking for him right now-with him being in the middle of a training exercise and all?

Then suddenly, for what feels like the nth time that particular day, Skye pulls him out of his reverie.

"Andrew? Hey, I think lost you there for one second. Is everything okay?"

He shakes his head. Smiles. "No, no. Just remembered something I should do later." Going back to their earlier topic, he asks, shrugging "So, did you ever get to buy those Netflix gift cards?"

"Yeah, of course I did." She proudly affirms. "Since I only have that maxed out credit card and stupid me forgot my wallet in my van that day, I realized that I have to think fast."

"So what did you do?"

"I tried charming the cashier. Didn't work. We probably swing at the same direction for all I know." She leans towards him, as if she's about to tell him some deep, dark secret. "Let me tell you, that Target dude, Joey, he's into dudes."

He chortles. "Good for Joey, I think."

"Well, because of that unfortunate little hiccup, I was forced to resort into more, let's just say, creative means of getting what I want."

"You hacked Netflix." He guesses quickly.

"No, silly." She shakes her head. "Why would I ever do that? That'll be too easy. I hacked Mastercard."

A proud grin crawls on his lips. "Of course you did."

"Hey," she admonishes. "No need to sound so unimpressed about it. It was a $15 gift card!"

"I am not unimpressed." Then, he recalls something. "Wait, you told me you don't have a phone that day too. How did you do it then?"

"I may have picked the pocket of the guy behind me." She admits. "I returned it after use, I swear."

"I bet he didn't even notice." He knows he should've already been used to her amazing display of pick-pocketing skills, not to mention her hacking skills, but damn.

"Oh he did." She wiggles her eyebrows. "I think he even liked it."

Fitz grimaces as he fakes a gagging sound. "I don't think I even want to know."

"Andrew," she begins with a sudden shift in her tone, "you said you have a doctor friend, right?"

"Yes." He drawls, not liking where this is going.

She asks, "Do you think you could get her to help me with something?"

"I can try," Alarm bells ring inside his head. He suddenly feels worried for his friend. "Why? What is this about? Are you having some kind of health problem?"

"I already told you about the three months I've lost after the accident right?"

His heart is pounding wildly inside his chest. If she got sick or anything because of whatever Coulson did to her, he's never going to forgive that man. "Yeah, what about it?"

Her eyes turns glassy. "Call me optimistic, but I think I could still get it back."

He swallows. "It's not really my field of expertise," he tells her, "but I really believe that it doesn't work that way."

"I know she's not a medical doctor, but she does know about biochem and genetics. I still got to try! Maybe she could electrocute my brain, jumpstart it or whatever."

He offers her a tight smile. "Hey, it's just three months, is it really worth that much effort?"

"A lot can happen in three months!" She insists. "I even got some weird scars I couldn't explain. Surgical scars, if you could believe it. My records says I got stabbed twice by an ice pick somewhere in New York. Mugging, they say. All of it in three months, and I remember absolutely nothing."

"But still, three months is nothing compared to the rest of your life, don't you think?"

"I got fucking stabbed, Andrew!" Her eyes are filled with a mixture of frustration and fury as she yells. "I got stabbed, I don't even remember any of it!"

"It's a traumatic experience, Skye. There must be a reason why your mind wanted to forget about it." He reasons. "Didn't it occur to you that you forgetting about may be for your own good? That your brain doesn't want you to remember because you really do not want it to?"

"That's the thing!" She sighs, copying his stance and staring right ahead. "I know that, hell, I've been telling myself that all the time… but I don't know-I can't explain why… I just need to know. Something's missing. It's missing all the time, in my head, in my heart. I can't live like this!"

He can't say anything anymore. His heart is breaking for her. He couldn't even begin to imagine how that feels like-having part of your life torn from you. Even if it was her decision to make, even if he gave her a chance to choose otherwise, still, forgetting it all must be impossibly difficult for her.

"I never had a happy life. My childhood was awful… I got thrown from place to place by the foster system because no one would accept me, no time to make friends because I lived in my van all my adult life and I'm always leaving them…but that incident-" She falters, smiling despite herself, "It gave me a chance to pretend that at one point in my life I was, you know, happy. Maybe during those months I've lost, I've met someone, anyone, who's made me feel less miserable than I am right now. God knows how much shit this life has-"

"But Skye-"

She shakes her head. "No. I don't think I'm just imagining it, or romanticizing what happened or whatever. I feel it, deep inside. I was happy. I was really happy. There were some good moments for me hidden in there, somewhere. And I want it back." She looks at him in the eye, almost begging. "I need it back."

* * *

 **Later that day**

"Fitz, there you are!" Simmons greets her friend the moment he returns to the lab. "So, how did training go? And where's Agent May?"

"I haven't got the slightest." Fitz absently replies, his mind clearly stuck elsewhere.

Sensing her friend's rather gloomy disposition, Simmons deposits herself beside him and asks, "Is everything okay?"

Fitz looks up at her. With a shaking voice, he murmurs, "I was with Skye."

It takes Simmons a good few seconds before his words finally sinks in, but when it does, her mind still refuses to accept it. She must've misheard him because really, what are the chances of the two of them crossing paths? "Right."

"Simmons." His eyes turns frantic, wild. "I was with her."

Her breath catches. How can that even be possible? There's no way she could find them. Hell, there's no way she could remember that she even has them to find in the first place. "What?" She stammers. "B-but how?"

He starts pacing, hands twitching uncontrollably on his sides. "She saw me first. Approached me. Bloody hell, what are we supposed to do now?"

Fitz's question doesn't even register to her because at that precise moment, there is only one thought running in her mind. She had stopped hoping. She knows she'll never return to them. But now… what about now? "Does she-did she-?"

He stops and rubs his face dejectedly. For the first time in a while he sees a sliver of hope in his friend's eyes, and it kills him that he has to be the one to destroy it. She's been right, after all. They can never get their friend back. Not now. Maybe not ever. "She remembers nothing of us. Not my name, not this team, not even a single moment of the last three months of her goddamn life!" He doesn't even realize that he is screaming.

Simmons blindly reaches for a nearby chair to sit on as her knees slowly started buckling underneath her. She tries to open her mouth to say something, anything, to make the truth hurt less, but she couldn't think of a single word.

With a yell, Fitz angrily takes off his jacket and throws it with all his might to the other side of the lab. "Did we actually mean anything to her at all?"

"How can you even ask that, Fitz?" Simmons voice rises a tad. "We are her friends, of course she cares about us!"

"You mean cared?"He scoffs. "It's all past tense now. Haven't you noticed it yet? She chose to forget!"

"Skye loves us. We are her friends."

"Well, she has a damn awful way of showing it!"

Simmons lets out a breath. Call her pessimistic but it's been weeks since she has given up all hope that in time the team will be back to normal, that they'll be whole again. But christ, the repeated reminders of the fact is getting harder and harder to stand. She wished, just for once, something will happen that would make fate go easier on their team. They deserve a break. Or some semblance of it, at least. They've suffered enough.

"This is all Coulson's fault, you know?"

Simmons shakes her head. "This was her choice as much as it was his, Fitz." She argues, albeit halfheartedly. Like she herself is not believing her own words. "She chose to go."

A look runs through his features. It's like the just realized something with her words. For the first time since this whole nightmare began, he finally understood. "Was it? Was it really?" Fitz asks her. "Come to think of it, I wonder why I failed to understand until now. You didn't see her. She didn't choose this. Any of this!"

"I know how bad you want us to return to what we used to be, but let's be realistic here, Fitz! We can't keep on hanging on to hope like this. There's nothing we could do to help her. The process is irreversible."

His jaw tightens. "I am very much aware of that." He had lost count of the many nights he and Jemma spent scouring literature, looking for something that would bring Skye back, only to find nothing.

"You've explained the protocol to her," Simmons says, trying a different tactic, "offered her a choice. Hell, you even begged her to stay. She still chose to go through with it. I think it's time we finally accept it."

Fitz shakes his head. "No. You didn't see her, Jemma. She was miserable! She's was trying to hide it, she was trying to mask everything with her jokes, but I could tell. I could bloody tell. She didn't want this at all." He looks at her, vestiges of hope reaching him for the first time since this whole conversation had begun. "She wants to go back to us."

"You can't possibly know that, Fitz." She lamely counters. "You've had nothing but one conversation, surely you-"

"What do we know about Skye, huh?" Fitz asks, gazing at his friend expectantly. "What's the one thing that she wants, the one thing she's been looking for all her life?"

Simmons opens her mouth, but before she could let anything out, Fitz cuts her off, answering the question himself.

"Her family, Jemma." He gestures wildly with his hands. "A sense of belonging. Of being a part of something."

A realization dawns on her. "She one of us."

"Of course she's one of us! We are her family!" Fitz cries, "We are her bloody family, and we abandoned her-I didn't stop her." His voice breaks, "she wanted me to stop her and I-."

"Oh, Fitz." She rushes towards her long-time friend and gives him the only form of comfort she could think of. She hugs him. Tightly.

"Her face when she told me that she just wants to hug me-" Fitz trails off, voice cracking. He's openly crying then. "She was so bloody confused out of her mind, and there was nothing I could do." Even if they drag her right then and there, re-introduce her to SHIELD, to the team, there's no way she'd regain whatever she'd lost. The protocol is permanent. Her memories are not simply sitting somewhere inside her brain, hidden from her consciousness, and waiting for some sort of trigger. They're just… gone. Permanently wiped out.

Using the back of one hand, Simmons wipes the growing wetness underneath her eyes. "We can never get her back, Fitz."

Perhaps, but that doesn't mean she could not be their friend again. A determined expression overcomes his face. "But we could be friends with her again, right?"

She wants to agree with him, to assure him that she'll be with him every step of the way, but she couldn't say a single word. She couldn't lie to him. They can't be friends with Skye again. Coulson would never allow it.

"I just miss her, Jemma." He mutters quietly. He knows how impossible his plan is. It's nothing but wishful thinking. Short of quitting their jobs, there's no way they could befriend a civilian like her. Not now. Sure, they could have some sort of friendship, but it would not be the same as what it was before. They'd just be filling her with lies at every turn, and as far as he's concerned, people don't lie to their friends. Not if they really value their friendship. "She was right in front of me, and I still can't stop missing her."

"I know, Fitz." She murmurs. "I miss her too."

* * *

 **Happy Christmas guys!**


	12. The End (Part 1)

_**I was watching the scene with the screaming Fitz and the monolith before I wrote this piece. I apologize in advance.**_

* * *

 **Three days after**

"Damn." Coulson curses as he hits the render option for the millionth time that one Friday morning. He clicks it a couple more times for good measure, but to his utter dismay, nothing is happening.

"Damn it! Why aren't you working?" He hisses.

"Computer problems?" May asks, entering the room with such stealth that could almost rival a ghost. Her face is devoid of expression as always. Phil isn't startled the slightest though; he's gotten used to his friend's sudden appearances out of thin air, he's actually learned how to stop letting it bother him.

"It's acting up more than the usual." Coulson admits as he pushes the abused tablet away from his sight. Better leave it for now before he could do any irreparable damage on the blasted thing. He looks up at her. "Do you think you can get Fitz out of the lab for one sec to come up here and fix _this_?" He gestures towards the offending gadget as if it was some evil spirit that needs to be exorcised.

May gives him a look. "I know someone who's better at fixing stuff like that."

"Don't start with me, May." He grumbles, knowing exactly who she is pertaining to. He doesn't need the constant reminder. It's quite difficult to put that particular issue at the back of his mind as it is.

She raises her hands in mock surrender. "Just pointing it out, in case you have already _forgotten_."

The sarcasm in her words didn't go unnoticed, and it causes something to painfully twist inside Coulson's gut. He wonders if he could also learn how to get used to that. "It's better this way."

She doesn't look convinced. Not even remotely. "Sure."

"This is the best for everyone, May." He tells her. "She's happy." He's stopped counting the number of times he'd said this to her. To everyone. Hell, even to himself.

Her eyebrows lift. "Oh, is she?"

"May-" Coulson is about to respond when his door suddenly bursts open.

"Sir, sir, sir!" Fitz comes rushing into the room, a black tablet in hand. It looks like one of those controllers he uses for this D.W.A.R.F.s.

That entrance alone is enough to convince Coulson that May is starting to be a very bad influence on the rest of his team. As far as knocking on doors as concerned, at least. But then again, his engineer's timing is impeccable. After all, he has something for him to do. "Oh, Agent Fitz, just in time, can you help me with this algorithm glitc-"

Fitz cuts him off before he could shove the malfunctioning gadget to the younger agent's more capable hands. "Sir you got to see this."

A button is pressed. The huge screen in his office comes to life.

… _officials say that as of this time, there is one confirmed fatality to this horrific car crash literally just minutes away from the infamous Golden Gate bridge. The identity of the victim still remains a mystery, as the remains were said to be barely recognizable, given the state of her burns. Investigators are still trying to rule out the possibility of a foul play since the victim's fingerprints and dental results do not seem to match anyo-_

" _Is this caused by someone in Index?" Coulson asks, turning to Fitz with a slight furrow on his brow._

" _No sir." Fitz responds shakily, as he runs a frantic hand across his face. Face ashen, he's looking at the screen as if it's telling him that the world is coming to an end._

Uncomprehending, Coulson has no other choice but to turn his attention again on the screen.

… _We'll update you as we know more about this awful incident, where again, a nondescript van with a Chicago license plate falls a hundred feet off a cliff, killing an unidentified Asian woman in a huge explosion._

Nondescript van…

No fingerprints or dental records…

Unidentified Asian woman…

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. He blanches.

May, the ever-dependable bottomless pit of non-reacting reactions, seems to have gone completely pale as well. "Are you saying that the person in the news is Skye?" She voices out the question screaming inside Coulson's head, who, for a fairly eloquent guy, have suddenly lost his ability to speak.

Fitz's response is close to hysterical. "Come on, Agent May, how many Asian women driving a van with a Chicago license plate do you bloody know?"

Coulson features tighten, the words coming out of the news anchor's mouth drowning on in his ears. He wonders if this is what an out of body experience feels like. "It could be any van." He tells both of them, he himself becoming more unsure after each word.

"Any van?" Fitz makes a pained sound from his throat. "Are you kidding me?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions."

"How long are you planning to lie to yourself, Coulson?" Fitz looks at his face directly for the first time since he enters the office. Tears are running freely down his face as he speaks, "it is Skye!"

He shakes his head."We left her in Texas, Agent Fitz; it couldn't possibly be-"

Fitz grits his teeth. "It. Is. Her!"

Coulson makes a grumbling sound. "Sure, because she totally has a reason to travel a couple thousand miles by land just to, I don't know, drive herself off a cliff." They originally planned to drop Skye to LA, just like when they found her, but since Miles has opted to stay in Austin, Coulson thought it would better if they send her there instead. It clearly wouldn't hurt to have a familiar face around, especially in her first few months out.

It is only then when May chooses to interrupt them again. She appears to have understood how Fitz came up with the conclusion that the dead girl can very well be their former colleague. Unlike her longtime friend. "Fitz saw her in Santa Clara a few days ago."

Coulson zeroes in on her, a look of betrayal in his eyes. "What did you say?"

"Skye's in the area." May tells him. Her voice has taken a terse tone; her expression is becoming more and more glum as she speaks. "I saw her too."

Her words are not registering inside his head as quick as they used to. Thoughts are swirling and roaring wildly inside his head, and he feels like his brain has finally succeeded in turning into an absolute mush. This is not what's supposed to happen. His team is not supposed to lie to him. Not about this.

"How long?" He questions her, his voice cold.

No one responds.

He glares at the two agents in front of him. "Damn it, how long have you been keeping this from me?!"

"Argh!" Fitz angrily throws his device all the way across the room, startling both agents. He looks furious enough to tear Coulson's head off. "I can't believe this!"

Coulson opens his mouth, "what the-"

With rage that could rival a mountain lion, Fitz marches towards his boss and cuts him off. "Really, sir?" he yells, "Really? That is your main concern right now? You have a friend who could very much be dead right this bloody moment, and you are still so wrapped up with nothing else but your _stupid fucking secrets_?"

"It's not her." The senior agent calmly says, watching the rage dancing frantically in his scientist's eyes. "It couldn't be her. The Skye I know wouldn't just drive herself off a cliff, Fitz." He reasons. "Give her some credit."

Fitz grabs Coulson's collar with both of his fists. "The Skye you know is gone." he hisses, "You made sure of that when you erased her!"

May steps up, trying to break up the two. "Stand down, Agent Fitz."

Fitz doesn't let go right away, instead, he growls and pulls him even closer. His voice is so full of pain when he speaks again, "You didn't see her. How broken she was… how desperate." He swallows. "She wanted the truth, but she has no idea as to where to get it. No _fucking_ idea! You left her so broken you could've just driven her off the cliff yourself!"

"That's enough, Leo." May raises her voice a tad, still trying to pull the angered scientist away from Coulson. It feels like the right thing to do, given the circumstances.

"She didn't take the antidote because she trusted you." Fitz mutters. "She trusted you not to screw her over, she believed that you wouldn't do anything to hurt her, but what did you do, huh? What did you do? You did so anyway. Because that's what you do. You screw people over!"

Coulson clenches his jaw at his agent's hurtful words. "It's for her own good. I've told you that a million times." He doesn't even attempt to extricate himself from his grasp. "I did it for her."

Fitz scoffs. "For her? Whatever helps you sleep at night right?" He mutters under his breath, "bastard…"

"Okay. I think I've let this go on for too long." Coulson calmly states, still refusing to let Fitz's cold stare to affect him. "Get your hands off me, Agent Fitz, or I'll make you regret it."

Instead of letting his boss go, Fitz hands tighten even further. Meanwhile, May remains standing nearby, her face unreadable.

"I already have enough regrets, _sir,_ " Fitz grits out, "and you know what? One of them is that I ever trusted you!"

"Fitz." Coulson says, his tone a clear warning.

Fitz is far from done. With a low voice, he adds, "And I'm sure, wherever she is right now, she's regretting it too."

Coulson's face drops for a split second. He schools it right away, but not before May sees it. Fitz words broke something inside him.

"If she's-" Fitz's voice breaks as he mumbles, "If it is-" he sniffs. "-if it's Skye, and if she is dead…" He closes his eyes for a brief moment to gather himself before staring back at his boss again. His face is full of disdain, of unvoiced rage. Coulson had no idea how much of this whole thing had affected Fitz. How much anger he's been keeping inside of him. Now, he's simply bursting at the seams. "Know that she is dead because of you!"

Fitz shoves his boss with more force than he'd expected, he is almost thrown right across his desk.

And then he leaves, slamming the door so hard it's almost blown off its hinges.

The silence that follows is deafening.


	13. The End (Part 2)

**This chapter may be called, 'the end', but this is not the last one. There are a couple more to go before I could finally close this story. Thank you for reading :-)**

* * *

May notes that it took roughly forty five seconds after Fitz left before Coulson finally found his voice again. He is still righting himself after their usually shy engineer friend had managed to drag his suit askew when he glances up and looks warily at her, "Are you going to scream at me too?" He asks.

To be honest, as May watched Fitz's true feelings about their current situation finally come to the surface, she actually felt torn between wanting to break the two apart, and egging the argument on. She herself had been itching to do the same thing for months, confronting Coulson for all the hasty decisions he's made recently, with the most obvious of all his overwhelming need to push Skye away from all the dangers that accompanies the organization that he so dearly loves. "No."

"You sure? Your face kind of tells me otherwise."

If only she didn't somehow understood where Coulson was coming from, his severely misguided notions notwithstanding, she probably would've slugged him already. "I don't make a habit of expressing my anger verbally."

"Oh." Coulson's shoulders slumps in defeat. He sighs. "So you still really are angry."

"You've seen me angry, Phil." She nonchalantly states, shooting him a meaningful look. She patiently watched her friend slowly sift through his memories of the recent past before she speaks again, "-felt it." She knows he would never forget that time a couple of months ago.

Coulson tries, and fails, to conceal a wince. "Right."

May shrugs. Despite the absence of regret from her end, she still has to admit that that particular moment isn't really the highlight of her life.

 _May couldn't remember when was the last time she'd run this fast. The urgency-not to mention the fury-that carries her feet in such maddening pace could very well be enough to make permanent indentations on the Academy's famous laboratory atrium. She isn't sure if Simmons is still trailing behind her, and honestly, she doesn't really have the time to care. Her mind is fixed on a single goal and a single goal alone-to stop Coulson's misguided protector complex from ruining someone's life._

 _She just wishes she isn't too late._

 _She turns to a corner and finds a narrow staircase. There's a light coming out from underneath the door. A sign is plastered across it. Basement 3._

 _They're still inside. She knows it._

 _"Don't do anything stupid, Phil." She mutters to herself as she takes a deep breath and slides the door open._

 _The first thing that catches her attention are the intense lighting abovehead. It is hard not to, given that there are literally hundreds of bright bulbs fired up in the ceiling. As she takes a single step inside, she passes through a curtain of warm air. The further she trudges in, the warmer it gets._

 _She still couldn't see a smidge._

 _"Skye, are you here?" May yells through the brightness._

 _The loud thumping of her own heart is the only thing that she hears in response. Not a very good sign._

 _By the time she manages to completely walk in, she already feels like she's entered not a laboratory but a giant toaster oven. Sweat is trickling on her skin, cascading down her back like a slimy snake. She'd always hated the heat. "Skye?"_

 _She takes another step. A few more seconds is all it took for her eyes to finally acclimate with her surroundings. And then she sees him. Them._

 _She feels a terrible chill inside as she her gaze moves from Coulson's expressionless face to Skye's unmoving form, and then somehow-somehow, she just knew._

 _"What have you done?" She asks quietly. The calm before the storm._

 _He avoids her eyes as he speaks, focusing on the unconscious agent lying on the ground instead, "what needed to be done. This way she'll be safe."_

 _"Safe." She echoes, valiantly trying to rein her anger in. She's safe? Safe from whom? The only person she's in danger from is him, and he's already succeeded in hurting her in one of the worst possible ways._

 _"I know this may seem too extreme."_

 _Does he also know how badly she wants to break his nose? She sincerely doubts it._

 _Wordlessly, May kneels beside Skye's motionless form. She looks so peaceful when she's asleep._

 _"May," Coulson pleads somewhere beside her, "please say something."_

 _She brushes a couple of stray strands off Skye's face. She didn't deserve to be treated this way. She didn't do anything wrong._

 _"May-"_

 _She glares at him and yells, effectively cutting him off, "What the hell for? You'll keep on doing whatever you want anyway."_

 _She can't believe this. He actually went through with it. How can he be this stupid? He, of all people, should know how messed up this entire protocol is. He went through a similar program himself. How can he do this to her?_

 _"This is the only way."_

 _The absence of remorse in his tone is enough to send her blood to a boil. She knows him and all his tells like the back of her own hand. He isn't even regretting what he's done. "How can you still look at this and think that whatever you did was right?"_

 _"What's necessary isn't always right, you know that." And then he gives her THAT look._

 _May couldn't believe her ears. How can the man she'd considered to be her friend for decades be the same man capable of this kind of cruelty? "Who are you?"_

 _He steps closer. "I know I shouldn't have shot you."_

 _She growls. Of all the things he did, that's what he's sorry for? "I'm not the one you need to apologize to."_

 _He nonchalantly shrugs. "I've already made arrangements for her in Texas. A friend will be looking after her. She'll be well taken care of."_

 _May can't recall what exactly happened next. All she knows was her vision became so filled with anger to a point that nothing but pure instinct made sense to her. It practically short-circuited her brain, turning her to a rage monster whose main goal is to decimate anyone in sight._

 _She sucker punches him. Hard._

 _Coulson doubles forward, rendered suddenly breathless and clutching his midsection for dear life._

 _May is standing right above him once his eyes cleared and he's finally found the strength to look up. She's gathered Skye on her arms, cradling her to her chest like some wounded animal. "Be thankful that's all I did." She says between gritted teeth._ _Now that she's thought about it, she probably should've hit him somewhere else. Somewhere she knew would hurt. A lot. In the end of the day, Coulson still is a relatively lucky guy. "Now get up!"_

"Do you believe that its her?" Coulson asks, suddenly pulling her out of her trance. His head seems like it's a million miles away too.

May shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "It wouldn't change anything, whether I believe it or not," she says, "but-"

He interjects, "but what?" There's a sliver of hope in his face as he looks at her. As if it is in her power to absolve him for what's he's done.

"But for your sake I hope it isn't."

* * *

It doesn't take too long before the team arrives on the scene. May, who had barely spoken since she has successfully dragged Fitz out of Coulson's office, landed their bus a couple of miles out of San Francisco. They were forced to ride in two separate vehicles to go to the crash site, given that Coulson didn't even give the bus a chance to properly park before zooming off with Lola.

The immense tension brewing amidst their other team members, coupled with trepidation as to the identity of the crash victim had turned Simmons into a complete nervous wreck. And clearly, she isn't alone. Agent Ward, she notices, keeps that stoic expression of his plastered on his face, all the while avoiding her attempts to meet him in the eye. He fixes his gaze solely on the road in front of him as he drives, gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white.

The way he's taking all these is starting to alarm her, to be honest. Of all the months he'd known him, she's never seen him like this.

He almost looks… scared.

SImmons turns her attention to Fitz, who is silently sitting beside her. Not even a single word has left his lips ever since she saw him being forcefully dragged by May into their car. Despite her attempts at conversation, he seems quite resolute about keeping his thoughts only to himself.

She has not seen Fitz like that before either, and it terrifies her. Fury was radiating around him in waves, and he is shaking all over. She could easily venture a guess as to the root cause of his anger though. Hell, if she wasn't so worried about Fitz and Skye right then, she probably would've resorted to throttling their boss with her own bare hands. But then again, it is not completely Coulson's fault. For letting things to go on this long, the rest of the team are somewhat culpable as well. They all could've intervened. This entire mess would've happened if they did.

Well, it must be true then; hindsight is indeed 20/20.

Law enforcement vehicles are what she sees first. They are moving away. Leaving. The team dazedly alighted their SHIELD-issued SUV, hardly paying attention to their lot. Coulson had perhaps claimed jurisdiction already. Knowing how fast Lola goes, he's probably been there for minutes.

Simmons easily spotted Lola next. The red Corvette is deposited so crookedly on the road in front of them, her driver's side door open. The engine is still running. It's not like Coulson to leave his car in that manner.

And speaking of Coulson, he is nowhere to be found.

 _Where in the bloody hell is he now?_

A crackling sound suddenly disturbs her from her thoughts. Fire. Something's burning. She could smell it so well. Burnt rubber. Maybe a bit of gasoline, too.

And flesh.

Her stomach plummets. There's no mistaking it; she could smell burnt flesh.

"Oh god." She feels sick. This has never happened before.

 _Please, please don't-_

 _Not Skye._

Simmons' feet feel like lead as she braves to move closer to the cliff's edge. She could see the smoke rising from beyond the railings, but the crash site itself in hidden from her view as it is on the other side of the hill. She takes five small steps forward. Six. Her other team mates are following closely behind her. Seven. Eight.

And then she sees it.

"My god." Simmons gasps.

That van. It can't be…

A blast of wind suddenly rushes on her right side, making her turn.

Ward.

He jumps off the barricade with such swiftness it had almost given her a whiplash. Before she could even blink, she sees him already standing right beside the charred vehicle, eyes wide in utter disbelief as he takes in the sight in front of him. "No," he certainly knows that van too, "No…"

A figure crashes beside her, forcing her to turn again, but now towards the other direction. She couldn't stop herself from crying by then. "Oh, Fitz."

"I'm sorry." Fitz mutters in anguish. "I'm so, so, sorry!"

With tears clouding up her vision, she watches her friend as he succumbs into his most miserable state as of yet. He is down on his knees, clutching the ground with both hands, nothing but heart-wrenching sobs taking over his body.

Simmons wanted to say something, anything, to make her friend feel better, to keep him from falling apart, but there's nothing really that she could say. She, herself, is still having trouble processing all this.

"I could've stopped you!" Fitz shouts wildly at the wide expanse in front of him. "Damn it, I could've stopped you!"

"Leo." May's voice suddenly fills her ears. "Let's not jump into conclusions just yet, alright?" She is standing right beside him, squeezing his shoulder in what seems to be a form of reassurance. The older agent's eyes glistened slightly as they're hit by sunlight, but it is gone way quicker than it came. Simmons has never heard anyone else in their team refer to her friend using his given name before.

"What other conclusions are there?" Fitz screams angrily, shoving May's hand away.

"Fitz, please…" Simmons pleads, kneeling beside her friend.

He punches the ground repeatedly, connecting three strong hits before Simmons finally manages to grab a hold of his arm. "Hey, stop it!" She yanks him backwards, and shoots him menacing glare. "What do you think you're doing? You seriously believe that punching the daylights out of the ground would help us with anything?"

He stares at his biochemist friend with such pain in his eyes. "Why didn't I do anything when I saw her?" He asks. "I knew something was wrong. I knew she was in a bad place. I could've saved her!"

Simmons turns her attention to May, wordlessly telling the older agent to leave them for a moment. May nods in understanding, walking away.

When they're finally alone, Simmons grabs Fitz face with both hands. "Fitz, look at me."

Still drowning in self blame, he refuses to do as she asks, averting his gaze at all costs. "This is my fault. That meeting is a cry for help, and I ignored it. I ignored it like the git that I am!"

"Fitz, come on! Don't be like this." She begs him.

Fitz lets out a soft whimper. It's heartbreaking. "She killed herself, Jemma."

Jemma pales. "Wait… killed herself?" _But it's an acc-_ \- "Fitz, what are you-"

"I should've forced the antidote on her." He reasons, ignoring the look of sheer terror that is now dancing so ferociously in his friend's eyes. "I knew she's making a mistake by not taking it, but I just stood there and accepted her decision like some spineless ninny."

"That's her decision and you merely respected it… but killing herself? Fitz are you sure-"

He cuts her off, "I should've dragged her back when I saw her again in that park. I knew something was wrong. I bloody knew it!"

"No, no.. Fitz, that can't be possible." There's no way that could be true. Skye wouldn't do that. She knows her. She's not the kind of person who would purposely hurt herself. "There must be a proper explanation for all these things. It could not be _that_."

His expression turns frantic. Out of control. "I left her there, Jemma! I bloody left her and ummpff-"

His words are suddenly muffled as her lips forcefully collided onto his. His eyes widen in surprise as the weight of what they are doing finally dawns on him, but for some reason he could not find it in him to pull away.

After a few moments, it is Simmons who leans away first. "Sorry, but you're not stopping and I couldn't think of a way-" She trails off, blushing profusely. She bites her lip. This is really not how she imagined this conversation would end up being. "Sorry."

"Wha-uh, wwhat-huh?" Fitz splutters. He is bombarded with too much emotion to react in a more coherent manner. He feels like he is being pulled towards multiple directions at once.

She shakes her head, willing to make the weirdness of what she just did to go away. "Er-"

He opens his mouth, closes it. He can't find the words to say. "I-ah-we. Did you, we…?"

Simmons head is spinning. Her heart is pounding like hell. Where on earth did that come from? It just sort of, happened.

No matter. Whatever happened, whatever she did, it seems to work. At least she finally got his attention. She tilts his chin up so she could look at him in the eye. "You need to focus Fitz. Yes, it is her van. Yes, the news seem to describe her. Yes, she happens to be last seen near this area. But it is not really her until we've proven it's her, okay? We are scientists." She tells him. "Agent May is right, we cannot simply jump to conclusions. That's not who we are! We need to go down there and do our jobs first, and then whatever it is we find, we will do what we must. We'll cross the bridge when we get there."

"I…can't." Fitz murmurs softly.

"I refuse to believe that Skye would intentionally harm herself like this." She says firmly. "Until there is a proof saying otherwise, this is the thought that I am going to be sticking with, moving forward. I hope you would do the same."

"But… what if it's her and her body…" He runs a shaking hand on his face. "I can't see Skye like that. She's one of us. Our friend!"

Simmons tries to push the horrible image his words brought out of her mind. Honestly, she isn't sure how she'd react either. The only death of a friend she's ever dealt with before was Dr. Hall's, and they didn't even see his body. And Skye… despite the obvious that they haven't known each other that long, the possibility of her being gone forever-the mere thought of it, even-is burrowing a trench so deep within her soul it renders her breathless. Can fate truly be that cruel to their newly formed ragtag family? Could Skye really be dead? "Leave that job to me, alright? You focus on the vehicle. That is, after all, your forte."

He opens his mouth, about to protest, when a solitary tear falling from her eye catches his attention. She wipes it with the back of her hand and swallows hard. "Try and treat it just like any other case. Can you do that?"

"Any other case." Fitz repeats, his heart giving him one painful clench. Simmons is doing her best to be strong for him, for them, the least he could do is try not to fall apart more than he already has. He owes her that much.

"Yes, Fitz." Simmons smiles softly at him. "It's just like any other case."

If only Jemma could lie better than that.


	14. The End (Part 3)

**Two weeks ago**

"Still typing, I see."

Miles chuckles as he watches Skye continue to completely immerse herself in her computer screen like she has absolutely no care at all about the whole world around her. His roaring voice barely made a dent on her code-riddled headspace. Hell, even after he closes the door behind him as loud as he possibly could, she still doesn't seem like she's noticed his arrival at all.

He clears his throat.

She doesn't even twitch.

He tries it again, a bit louder this time.

Still nothing.

He appears to be almost in the verge of giving up when suddenly, a brilliant idea hit him.

There's only one thing in this world that has never failed to capture her attention for all those years he'd known her, and there is no reason for it to fail this time around. Come to think of it, it's kind of silly he just remembered about it now.

With a smirk, he raises the brown paper bag on his hands and opens slightly. Just a tiny peek. "I brought Tacos."

The change in her expression happened slowly. At first, her fingers stopped moving. She then started blinking in confusion. It is as if she has just been granted the sense of smell and is not sure what exactly she is supposed to do with it. Carefully, she sniffs the suddenly changed air and looks up for the first time.

Miles opens the package further, unleashing an overwhelming explosion of Mexican spice.

He's got her.

* * *

It is only when the wonderful scent of her favorite snack wafts fully towards her that she finally registers that the earlier disturbance in her thoughts is an actual living person, and not a mere figment of her imagination. "Miles?" She asks.

He grins at her. "I'm not sure if I should be offended that these tacos appeals more to you than I do."

She ignores his quip and lays out her hand to accept the tasty treat he's brought. "Hand it over." Their poor lighting is clouding most of his features so she can't see him well, but oddly, she kind of prefers it that way.

"How many times should I tell you that you need to wear a watch whenever you're coding?" He says, surrendering his humble offerings to her waiting hand. "I've been gone for seven hours and you didn't even notice."

She shrugs and excitedly tears off the wrapper. "Thank you."

"The taco guy five blocks away thanks you too." He tells her jokingly. "You're the only one keeping his business afloat, you know?"

She takes a bite and moans, mentally thanking the ever elusive Lucio mid-munch. If she could only hack his secret taco recipe, she'd die a happy lady. Hell, even the mere meeting of the guy would do. She's been enjoying his well crafted treats for months and still she hasn't had a chance to see his actual truck. Or the actual guy, for that matter. They seem to constantly miss each other for some reason. "Where've you been anyway?"

"Nowhere as exciting as where your mind just flew off to while I was gone, I'm sure."

She notices how nicely he managed to evade her question. It's sending weird tingles at the back of her neck.

"Did anything interesting while I was gone?"

"Everything I do is interesting to you." She tried to make it sound like she was flirting with him, but in reality, she is holding back a shudder. Sure, everything she's doing is interesting to him. But not in a very good way. It's more like he's watching her every move. Like a hawk. A weird and obsessive hawk.

Well, in fairness to this hawk, at least he always sees to it that he brings food with him whenever he gets back.

"Is that so?" He mutters, almost seductively.

He must have seen some sort of trepidation in her features because he backtracks quickly right after stealing a brief glance of her. He averts his attention from her and gives it to the device in front of her instead. He jerks his head at it. "Let me guess, you're hacking the Pottermore website again, are you?"

"Er, no. I don't think I am." Her mind is too focused on her suspicious notions to realize that she's been absently typing away even while they're talking. She squints at black and white mess of text in front of her. She blinks dumbly at the screen. What is she supposed to be doing again? "Am I?"

Miles shakes his head and chuckles as he slides in to sit beside her. He follows her gaze and snorts. "I've known you for years, but not once have I ever pegged you as a bagpipe afficionado."

Thinking that she might have misheard him, she swiftly faces him and asks, "Huh?"

He gestures at the opened window. "You're hacking a website that sells bagpipes and other antiques made from the 60's."

"What?" Quickly, she returns her attention back to her laptop. It took a few seconds for her brain to catch up with her eyes, but when it finally did, she couldn't help but let out a curse. Did she really just spend time on this? The piece of program she'd created appears too much of a rubbish to be remotely salvageable. With a disappointed frown, she selects every line she has typed. She's about to hit delete when Miles flicks her fingers away from the keyboard.

"Oh wait." Miles remarks. "That's a pretty sweet '67 corvette you have there. And it's in my favorite color."

Skye stares at the black car. Something twists inside Skye's gut at the sight of it, but at the same time, she feels that there is something fundamentally wrong about it. Something different. It must be the price. What breed of weirdo pays that much for decades old set of scrap metal anyway? She shrugs, "It is also worth two of your kidneys." She pushes his paws away from her computer and hits the escape key.

Miles hums in assent, "and maybe a piece of my lung."

"That too." She agrees.

She has done it again apparently. Hours and hours of her life wasted on something worthless because her mind is always drifting to the most random things whenever she's coding.

And to make things worse, she missed her chance; Miles is back now and god knows when she'll get him to leave again. She can't exactly do anything with him around. He's always hovering around her shoulders, asking her odd questions, sniffing around her files… He's even checking her search history.

Something's off with him. She just can't figure out what.

And by god, that has to change soon.

She has to do something.

* * *

 **Earlier that day**

"Anything to report?" The man appears out of nowhere, making Miles almost jump out of his skin. He isn't really fond of these spy people. Always slithering out of the dark at the most opportune moments, scaring the shit out of him time and time again. Walking movie cliches, these guys are.

"It's good to see you too, Agent Coulson."

The suit-clad man snorts. "We both know that that's not true."

Miles jerks his head towards the direction of an abandoned alley. Coulson, snorts at his antics but still chooses not to comment on it. He trails after him in silence.

Seeing that there's no point dillydallying, the former Rising Tide hacker goes straight to it. "She's fine. Poking around as always, but that's how she is. Nothing specific. She's off your scent."

The way Coulson stares at him makes him feel like he's some piece of gum stuck under his shoe. "I'm not worried about that. I got my best people keeping an eye on her electronic activities. That's not your job, Mr. Lydon. What I asked is if there's anything new with her? Is she doing okay?"

He scoffs, then retorts, "Of course she's not okay. You messed up her brain, remember?" They've been through this before, but that doesn't mean all is well and forgotten. The lengths these people go to protect their precious secrets is unfathomable. "I was right from the get go. People like you can never be trusted."

Coulson grits his teeth. Of all people, Miles has the least amount of rights to judge him for what he did. He did betray Skye over some payday after all. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

"You didn't ask for hers either, I assume."

Coulson merely glares. "I can't stay long. Our plane just stopped by to refuel."

"Then you better start going." Miles mutters, his smile borderline acidic. "We don't want to keep all the powered weirdos waiting, do we?"

Instead of commenting on the taunting jibe, the SHIELD agent hands Miles a nice-smelling paper bag. "You should give these to her." Coulson says. "She always forgets to eat while hacking."

"Oh, right." Miles, despite his anger, gets caught off guard with the gesture. He did forget to get her anything to eat. The frown in his face slowly lessens. The man may irritate him to no end, but at least he did save him another trip downtown. "Thanks."

"It's just food." Coulson shrugs. He hopes Skye knows what to do with this guy, because he surely doesn't. Miles seem to genuinely care for her, it's just that for some odd reason, he feels wrong. The only motive he had for seeking the guy's help is to use his prior connections with her to solidify the cover story they'd prepared for her. Coulson doesn't know anyone else who knew Skye before and after became involved with SHIELD, and Miles is the only one he could task to watch over her post protocol who wouldn't make her too suspicious. At least for the first couple of days as she transition. From what he knew about Skye, she is not too trusting with strangers. Especially strangers who tend to follow her around, watching her every move. She's definitely good enough to trace them back to SHIELD. He's seen her work.

Miles sighs. "You know what, I can't figure you out."

It takes a couple of seconds before Coulson responds. "Thank you… I guess?" He offers. "That kind of is the point of my job."

"I don't know why you are always trying so hard to look like you don't care." Miles says, "When it's fairly obvious that you do."

Coulson folds his arms across his chest. "I'm not trying anything."

"Sure you do. One moment you ask updates about her as if she's some secret experiment you've been hiding from the world-you act so detached and uncaring-then suddenly you morph into this doting guy who brings her lunches whenever she forgets it."

Coulson tilts his head. "You got that all from a bag of tacos?"

"You gave her a lot of other things." Miles says. "Hell, you even made a whole elaborate scheme of making her 'accidentally' find her old van, which, if I could recall correctly, she also conveniently won in a street poker tournament that simply appeared out of nowhere."

"I simply gave back what was hers to begin with."

"You could've simply given her money to buy a new one, god knows how easier that'd be, but no, this big bad super secret agent went to great lengths to make sure she gets her precious vehicle back."

"Our storage area needs more space."

"You care enough to know how much that van meant to her." Miles says, snorting at the man's perplexed expression. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that you are her dad."

Coulson narrows his eyes at him. "If I'm her father, I guarantee you, we'll be having an entirely different conversation." And it involves a knife. And a lot of pain.

"Then thank heavens you aren't then." He winks playfully at Coulson. He even wiggles his eyebrows for good measure. "That little minx is too sexy to refuse, if you know what I mean."

The agent's hand clenches just above the vicinity of his gun.

"Woah, woah!" Miles holds up his hands non threateningly. "No need to act so paternal and violent, I was merely trying to rile you up. It's all _good_!"

The innuendo doesn't go unnoticed. He growls, "You-"

"Woah… alright! Alright! Jesus!" Miles curses. "Don't worry, I know when to back off when my feelings aren't returned. I'm not some vile monster."

"Good." Coulson remarks. "But keep this in mind Lydon, if you so much as take a step in the wrong direction, monsters would actually be the least of your problems."

He grins. "I assure you, her virtue is safe with me."

The senior agent scowls. He isn't able to retort though. A soft ringing in his front pocket catches his attention before he had a chance to do so. "I got to go."

"Okay." Miles sighs. "I suppose we'll still be using the usual channels?"

Coulson nods. "You know how discerning she is." He types in a code in his phone. "Cover your tracks when you update me."

"Oh please, I practically taught her everything she knows. She won't find anything on my end."

"I sure hope so."

* * *

 **Present Time**

"Lydon, where is she?"

Coulson hears a groan on the other side of the line. A couple of bottles being pushed around. "Hello?" The man sounds thoroughly hungover.

"Sober up and answer me!" Coulson snaps. "Where is Skye? Is she with you right now?"

The seriousness of the agent's voice momentarily jerks him into alertness. Coulson isn't supposed to call him directly on his phone. They have more secure channels than this. "Of course, uh, yeah, sure… She's right, uh, here." That was a lie. He hasn't seen her in weeks.

A relieved sigh can be heard across the line. "Give her the phone. I need to talk to her." He orders.

"Er, what?" Coulson's tone sends Miles' heart pounding harshly against his ribcage. Something's wrong. Very wrong. "You want to talk to her? Wh-what-why? What's going on?"

"Give her the phone." Coulson growls. "Now!"

"What happened to Skye must not know of your existence at all costs?" Miles asks. "Have you gone bonkers?"

"Yes!" Coulson impatiently responds. "Give her the damn phone."

"I can't do that."

"Don't test me Lydon." Coulson yells. "Hand the phone over to her."

"I-ah-" Miles stammers. "Uh, she's er, not here."

A litany of curses shortly followed from Coulson's end. Miles tries not to wince.

When Coulson finally manages to control his breathing, he stiffly mutters. "Please tell me you know where she is."

There is silence on Miles' end of the line.

"I haven't seen her in two weeks, maybe three." The hacker admits. "She once mentioned wanting to go to Tony Stark's leisure park in Northern California. I don't know; m-maybe she went there. She's probably crossed state borders by now. What's happening? Is she okay?"

All Miles heard in reply is the sound of his call ending.

* * *

 **begin rant I hope AoS gets a season 5. Hell, if it were up to me I'd renew them up to season ten. Or twenty. If you are reading this fic and you are living in America, then please, I beg you, watch the show live. DVR it too, or whatever, but please please please, for the love of god, don't let this show get cancelled. Watch them live. end rant Thank you :-D**


	15. The Recovery (Part 1)

**I have no other excuse for my absence aside from being sooooo busy with work these past few weeks. Anyways... we're near the end guys!**

* * *

Skye is having a weird day.

Earlier that morning, she met a guy-a complete stranger-named Andrew. He seems nice, a bit awkward at times, but he's turned out to be a pretty decent conversationalist once she got to know him. Honestly, at first she thought she was attracted to him, as a strange pull seemed to have drawn her to him the moment she spotted him standing near her favorite park bench. That in itself is an anomaly for her because he really exuded an odd hipster vibe from afar, a particular trait that she used to hate (no offense to hipsters, of course).

Fortunately, the more they talked, the more she knew that she's not attracted to him at all. Not in a romantic way at least. Hell, even if she is, she doubts he would be interested in her in that way anyway. From his stories alone she could pretty much deduce that he's got some serious hots for that British lab partner and colleague of his. Not that he'd realized that yet (God, he's so clueless about it; it's quite adorable).

Seriously though, doesn't she really know him from before?

He just felt too familiar to her. Too familiar, she actually gets some chills just by thinking about it. It's like discovering a long lost younger brother or something.

Whatever that feeling may be, and hell, wherever weird part of her messed up brain those odd vibes came from, one thing is certain: she needs to find out more about him. Her desire to uncover the mystery behind this oddly familiar stranger she literally just met is so strong it's driving her nuts. Certainly, this is not a gut feeling she could easily let go. If there is one thing in this world that she absolutely abhors, it is a bunch of unanswered questions.

God knows how much of those she already has.

With that in mind, she finally decides to do some serious digging once she gets back to her van. Nothing too intrusive, of course. Maybe some database searches, a quick review of his recent travel history, those kinds of stuff. It shouldn't be that hard.

Okay, on second thought, that may be a little intrusive.

 _Damn it,_ she internally groans. Who the hell is he _?_

They must've met somewhere.

She has already walked a couple of blocks, still buried in her thoughts on who Andrew could and could not be, when a hand suddenly grabs her from behind and drags her to an abandoned alleyway. She struggles to free herself from the stranger's grasp, punching her way randomly against whatever firm surface she could find.

And by god, whoever that person may be, he is really firm. Not firm as in muscle-on-a-bucket-of-steroids-firm. It is firm-firm. It is almost like he captor is wearing metal.

Or is made of one.

She almost breaks one of her elbows when she tries to aim for her assailant's gut. Loudly, she howls in pain, "ow! goddamn it!" Never again will she ever follow tips straight from Miss Congeniality.

"Quiet," her kidnapper hisses.

A hand suddenly wraps around the bottom half of her face, stifling any further noise coming from her. Skye's eyes widen in fright as she glances down at the offending appendage that is currently trying to suffocate her.

The hand - her captor's hand - is a bazooka.

Even without the huge hand covering her mouth, she probably wouldn't still be able to let out any further sounds. By then, she was already too shocked to scream.

She is still too young to die! Death by bazooka is not the way she imagined herself to go. She can't die like this.

Those kinds of thoughts are still wreaking havoc inside her mind when she finds herself being swiftly released, causing her to tumble slightly forward, hanging onto a dilapidated brick wall for dear life. What -

Without so much of a warning, she feels her entire body being turned around by the shoulders. Her stomach lurches at the momentary whiplash, but she eventually manages to look at her captor for the very first time.

"Skye," he breathes, "I need your help."

* * *

"Y-you know my name?" Skye gapes at the man in front of her. Half of his face is melted, while the other half is riddled with some gizmo that eerily reminds her of some weird futuristic movie from the 80's. It was a horrible film.

"Skye, come on, I don't have enough patience for this." The man says as he carefully lets her shoulders go. He takes a step back. "You have to help me."

"How do you even know my name?" Skye demands, craning her neck as stealthily as she could towards the end of the street. Hopefully some good samaritan would pass by and call the cops for her. She really isn't in the mood to get mutilated by bazooka hands right now. "Who the hell are you?"

"Jesus, Skye, are you on drugs or something?" He questions her in exasperation. "We just saw each other a few months ago, surely you don't think I'm that forgettable!"

Her eyes widen. "Wait, you know me from a few months ago?" She asks, "When was it exactly? And how? What's your name? Where did we meet?"

* * *

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. She doesn't seem like she's shitting him. "You're serious."

She steps away from his scrutinizing gaze, suddenly appearing more nervous than before. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm Mike. Mike Peterson." He watches her face for any signs of recognition, only to find it completely blank. He curses.

"Mike." She repeated. His name almost sounded like a question on her lips.

"Fuck! You really don't remember me."

"If I ever met anyone who looks like you, I think I'd remember." She carefully says. "No offense."

He growls in frustration. He doesn't have much time. It took him months to find her without actually looking like he's looking for her. The people behind his cybernetic eyes has his son, and they'll hurt him the moment they realize that their ever-dependent personal cyborg is not so dependent at all. The frequency jammer he has only works for ten minutes at a time, and he already wasted three just to have this pointless conversation. "Yes or no, Skye, do you still know your way around computers?"

"Depends on who's asking." She answers evasively. "And why on earth should I help you? What's in it for me?"

"I don't know, saving my child from being killed?"

* * *

The trepidation in her expression disappears almost immediately. She gasps. "A child?" But then again-wait a minute… No. No, no, no. This robotic weirdo is definitely messing with her. "How can… wait - no" She shoots a quick glance downwards, embarking on a not so subtle search for his nether regions. Well, where his nether regions are supposed to be in. "Oh my god, you did actually-?"

Skye's eyes widen when she realizes how insensitive she sounded and she's about to apologize, when he waves her off.

The feed he's giving the people controlling him through his eye will only be on loop for a few more minutes and he's running out of time, but somehow, Skye's question - not to mention her eventual rueful expression - manages to wrangle a small chuckle from his throat.

He's never had a good laugh in months.

"I don't have a metallic prick, if that's what your asking." He mutters.

Skye literally blushes at his bluntness. "Duh. Of course I know that." She didn't.

"Sure."

She awkwardly shifts on her feet. Why is it that her mind keeps on going to the most ridiculous places during the worst possible times? "Can we move on now? I see you are rather pressed for time."

"You see, Skye, please don't take this the wrong way, but I've been keeping an eye on you for weeks."

How on earth is she not supposed to take that the wrong way? He's practically stalked her for god knows how long. And now he has her cornered in some dark alley in god knows where. "Right." What does he want from her anyway? It is not as if she has any money to pay him off.

"I've followed your every move ever since you arrived in California."

What? "Jesus." she mutters under her breath. As much as she hates it, she knows she doesn't have much of a choice but to listen to what he has to say anyway. There's no way she could outrun him, much less fight him, even if she wanted to. This guy could easily take her on without so much as breaking a sweat. Hell, she is not even sure if he is actually capable of sweating. "Can I at least ask why?"

"I know you left SHIELD." He tells her. "Took me some time to coerce a friend from the inside to actually verify it, but when he did, I immediately knew that you're the only one who could help me. But I had to find you first. You suddenly vanished without warning."

"Shield?" She furrows her eyebrows, confused. "What do you mean I left shield? Are you talking about the superhero spy organization, or some obscure bar I've been in in the past week?" She's been in a couple of strange places in the recent past, admittedly drinking more than she's used to, but surely she'd remember if she's in a place with a name as lame as SHIELD. "Are you sure you've been following the right person? Maybe you mistook me for someone else, because if there's one thing I'm sure of, if I wanted myself to disappear, the likes of you would never find me."

"Well unless you know some other flannel-loving hacker named Skye, I'm pretty sure I got the right person." He says. "And yes, I'm talking about the men in dark suits covert organization you've been so wary of in the past. You joined them a couple of months back, right?"

"But-" She opens her mouth, but stops. Joined? Joined SHIELD? "Wait, what?"

"Oh." Mike's eyes bugs out as a certain realization suddenly hits him. Of course. Everything starts to fall into place inside his head. "This is what he's been talking about! The high clearance protocol you underwent almost five months ago. The one he can't access!" _Holy shit._

She stares at him in utmost confusion. Now she's sure he's got the wrong person. "No, five months ago I've been in an accident. In the hospital for weeks after that. There's absolutely no way I did whatever protocol thing you are-"

His eyes took on a darker hue as he cuts her off. "Of course you have." He mutters angrily. "You were right the first time. We shouldn't have trusted them."

Skye's mind is spinning. He looks so affronted; it is as if whatever he's just realized has offended him a great deal. And for some reason she feels he's merely feeling that way on her behalf, which is totally weird. What the hell? "What? What is going on?" She demands. "Who shouldn't we have trusted?"

Mike's expression freezes for a second. He's gazing blankly at the wall across them as if he's reading something only he could see. "I'm sorry but I don't have time." He hurriedly tells her. "This same spot three days from now. We have a lot of things to talk about."

Skye's question is cut off when he suddenly jumps up so high off the ground he is able to land himself on the rooftop of the old building next to them.

Skye, mouth agape and too stunned to move, finds her knees buckling underneath her. "The hell?"

* * *

 **Who's watching beauty and the beast next week?**


End file.
